Faith by Judith Moffett Fleece the poodle, woolly, white, intense, Day after day sits facing the back fence. She doesn't budge. Her rapt gaze holds all day The back door of our neighbors (they're away). Her brother Feste, clown in coal-bright curls, Rants on the meshes, flings himself at squirrels, With verve and judgment streaks to pluck from air The ball I pitch. Fleece sits behind her stare. "That's such a stitch!" says Janet. "She's still there? And aren't they on vacation? Aw. Poor Fleece." Weeks blur by. Walk, car trip, dinner, sleep But mar the vigil she is fierce to keep. The stocky man in shorts cares for his own. Short rib of jerky, ear of pig, thick bone Molded of beet, these things will be again. Wonders will never cease;
One day soon that door will open in.
