Neddy gazes abroad to where surfers slice the blue,
And the day is hot,
But
Black-dog is a land-dog who has had his fill of playing fish.
Then flapping and flipping to the tune of the wind in the clear blue skies,
Neddy spies,
A sail – but not of the sailing kind.
This sail, it darts and checks and weaves away,
Now here
Now there,
Like a scent hound sniffing prey.
And this sail,
Its crazy glide awakens a primitive longing
That flutters
(fitfully at first)
then ever more persistently,
Like a terrier hot on the trail,
Till Neddy’s will to chase shakes hard against his Halti.
