World galgo day yesterday. It’s inevitable.

Not forgetting
The house is full of ghosts,
the quiet kind, the gentle kind,
that float like doves
and whisper in our dreams.
I hear sounds in the night,
stretching in sleep,
nails clicking on the tiles,
padding down the hall.
I hear doors nosed open,
breath on my face,
just checking.
Yes, I’m still here.
I listen, staring at the rafters
as the silence rolls back,
and I promise,
We will always remember.