where the writers are
WHAT IS FOUND, WHAT IS LEFT BEHIND

    WHAT IS FOUND, WHAT IS LEFT BEHIND

            We stalk the cool grey dawn in search of light    
            from others whom we’ll never know or see.    
            My old companion sniffs each rock despite    
            the heavy dew.  She sniffs each curb as we        
            explore familiar haunts; she dances free    
            to shape olfactory landscapes as she goes    
            from bush to bush to bush.  From tree to tree    
            she leaves her random messages for those    
            who know the code and have the proper nose.    
            How serious this search is, almost pleading        
            for metaphor, connectedness. She knows    
            what’s written on the land can be misleading,    
            that wind and tides must have their say before        
            the message in the bottle reaches shore.    

Robert B Cumming, 2002