2032: There are auld ghosts flitting

There are auld ghosts flitting
in my periphery [I brood as a
gull squalls overhead] & I do
not know enough – we are an
ignorant pair of fools – a man
& his persistent dog – I’ll walk
away for a good thirty+ years
[many pets will be at my heel
& answer to calls] – I may live
in Eire – or north – or not – or I
will take a Sussex circle [with
a dog] & remain sober below
blown birds’ syrupy shit-gobs
[a lucky strike] – I’m re-routed
by ageing dreamt-of-spectres –
I am corralled by my account
[my dog sees off her landing]
& my weeping blurs it all – our
noose route is forever uneven