Max Poem by Gerard El Cue

Soon's morning sun has hit your porch.
He goes. To look. To wait.
To watch your door. Stare down your path.
To search for you through day.

He rounds your pond. Checks your flowers.
Noses 'neath your chair.
Stops and sniffs each stepping stone.
To see if you've been near.

When, search complete, he's satisfied,
you have no new tracks left.
He moves again back to your porch.
And climbs upon your step.

I sit to join him now and then.
To scratch his neck and ear.
To tell him we will be OK.
And in his vigil share.

And so we wait there. Max & I.
We know naught else to do.
To try to find some answer there.
A sign. Some hope. A clue.

As day grows long, I step inside.
I call to coax him in.
He stares, turns round, and settles on
the porch where you had been.

But on occasion he looks up.
A tail wag. A smile?
Small signs that say that you've come near
to comfort him awhile.

And so tomorrow, we will return.
To hope for signs from you.
For we so miss you, Max & I.
And know naught else to do.