Feb 162015
 
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.

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