I rouse myself to watch them go,
Like a mother, ready to assist
Should they lose their way to the door.
The dogs, who take their cues from me,
Barely stir
And when the creaks and whispers cease,
Ease their white heads back to the floor.
But I, who need them gone to miss them,
Watch them as far as I can
Wend their way toward the iron hills,
Only then spreading my wings to soar.