Two dogs are curled around their space,
sharing the same patchwork coat
and flicker of ear. They sleep, both
close to my father’s after dinner work
with a spade, his shadow over them.
Brothers making trouble mostly,
who know how to run and somersault
faster than their legs can carry,
who rummage noses far below ground –
get buried. Then shrill through yards
of soil, each barks like a Baskerville hound
to come up bleeding at the nose.
Now they lie quiet as if life began
here with this garden and will always be so,
small paws taut in anticipation
of my father’s spade hurling the earth.