SPAIN, FEBRUARY 2000

In silvery tones of black and white
             two dogs,
                           our guides, perch
on top of a Spanish cliff

Facing opposite directions
             white one walks toward me
             brown and black one waits
the rest of our group
                           winds their way up the last bend

Air is slightly moist
                           as a canopy
             of fog envelopes tree-lined peaks
obscuring everything below

Last of the sun’s warmth
                           glistens
             on soft thick fur

These newest companions
never lost or uncertain of their steps

                           Protect us like bookends

Our guides sit at our table
             of moss-covered stone
to join us in a meal of bread and water

             As the sun hides
behind another day
             we descend into a forest of dusk

             I think I will never find
             Friends as good as these