I Dream Of Him
    
 Still damp from his evening walk in the rain
 The dog sleeps on the floor at my feet.
 A slowly steaming heap of inertia, he lies there
 Making neither sound nor movement.
 He smells of the hillside and warm summer rain
 And something more sinister.
 Did he chase sheep I wonder, while my back
 Was turned?
  
 Spurred on by a ewe’s feeble cries, did he pursue,
 Hunt, back her into a corner of the field,
 Did he sit there waiting, watching, willing her
 To break cover?
 His soppy grin turning to a snarl too slowly
 To make it to his lips.
 I stroke his soft ears, nudge him gently with my toe
 But still he does not stir.
  
 I bend down and scoop him up and he dangles
 Limp and lifeless in my arms.
 A crumpled towel still damp from my earlier shower,
 Smelling of Radox and anti dandruff shampoo.
 I drop it into the basket, replace the lid and turn out
 The light. I undress, I go to bed, I sleep,
 I dream of him.
 

  
 Aftermath

 Late October rising early
 A frosty awakening
 Dawn a sudden quickening
 Of the pulse.
 A skein of geese in the sky
 Twelve deep
 Flying in v formation
 A private jet coming in to land.
 Honking and barking
 Like stray dogs scavenging
 For scraps of cloud,
 A menacing pandemic of noise.
 And with a loud swoosh
 Water ruptures,
 Crystal glass fragmenting,
 Wings discarding flight,
 Silence the aftermath of arrival. 

 Dennis Moriarty is fifty-six years old and originates from London. He has lived in South Wales for over thirty years. Married with five grown-up children and grandchildren, Dennis enjoys reading, writing and walking the Welsh countryside. He has been published in The Rye Whiskey Review, Setu Bilingual, Spillwords, The Blue Nib, Our Poetry Archive, and numerous anthologies In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and has read his work at festivals and gatherings around the UK and Ireland.