On her way

If you’ve ever seen an old dog
Sheathed in shuddering skin
And far off beyond cloudy eyes
Whose daily adventure
Is the trail between couch
And kitchen, on her way
To the water bowl

There’s a puppy in there
Somewhere running circles
Unsure how her paws got
So heavy and the world
So swift and dim

She is and is not this
Sagging flesh
She was and was not a
Flicker of recognition
She will and will not still
Be here when she’s gone.