Fox Hunting to the Memory of George Carnaghi

grandfather,
known mostly
by absence

I know now
that I love something
we could have loved
together

and I see you
in the low, fog-saddled
fields just before dawn

or in the bright shouts
of late fall trees

often, I hear you call
my heart
by the voice of a hound’s
long, throated cries

and grandfather,
when I gallop,
I know you gallop too