© Copyright 2026 - Peter PHIR! The dog stands waiting Where the small waves break Black coat shining In the evening wake Cold water circles His narrow feet He watches the distance Like someone might speak Salt on his whiskers Wind in his chest The sea keeps arriving He does not rest I call from the stones He will not turn Wait by the water I’m coming home Wait by the water I’m coming home Stay through the evening Stay through the foam Wait by the water I’m coming home His owner once whistled From this very shore A coat on one shoulder A hand at the door Then winter came early And closed every road The dog learned the shoreline The way we learn ghosts He still checks the gulls They’re terrible messengers Through weather and whether, through salt-bitten air, He keeps making a kingdom from somebody’s chair Then the tide rises He steps back twice Hope is not foolish Hope has a price The sea knows nothing The dog knows love Wait by the water I’m coming home Wait by the water I’m coming home Stay through the evening Stay through the foam Wait by the water I’m coming home I thought he was waiting For someone long gone But all of that patience Was pulling me on I, too, kept a shoreline Inside of my chest Where names never answered But never quite left The water crossed over The border grew small Now grief is the ocean And I am its call Wait by the water I’m coming home Wait by the water I’m coming home Where every true creature Keeps faith with the unknown The shore is our altar The sea is our psalm Wait by the water I’m coming home © Copyright 2026 - Peter PHIR!
