The old dog died under a collapsing wheel. The innocent turns of his breath Revolved no further then. This was a dog's death. The old dog young had been a child's companion, Champion in his chasing turns That hounded the summer weather. Now he must be buried or burned. Never among muddy puppy days and yips When we rolled green as grass Did I imagine his final going, The silence in the house. These hands that threw the unfetched stick Somehow in air still turning Are empty now he no longer leaps In ordinary glory.