We Know the Way

With sunlight failing,
we come down
the hill in darkness
toward the light of home.
The dogs know the way,
though they hesitate
to go where they
cannot see, without
first smelling the air,
making sure the path
is clear, and nothing
is out of place. We
talk uninterrupted,
uncommon these days,
with lives full of wires
and webs, switches and
hums, bells and reminders.
The dogs stick like burs
to our boots. We linger
in the cool shadows, sharing
a moonlit sky and stars.
We know the way home.

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