old dog

she stares at me with eyes clouded by the past.

nose alert

haunches trembling

with anticipation for a time that once was

and might be again:

around the nearest corner,

under the fallen leaf,

or in the sound of my step.

is that pain

inhabiting the place

where once the bounce before running lived?

or is it merely the memory

of chases gone wild

toward oblivion

the ones that abandoned all training

and returned her to

that primitive

wolfish life

that beat inside

all along...

or, come to think of it,

can she now see more clearly?

is she unbounded

toward

that life

that self

that animal

that she was waiting to be

living

for the moment,

the instant when sunlight breaks in the piney morning,

the first bird leaves the nest,

the smoke scent rides the air,

and the rabbits are at last,

as they should be,

running far afield

waiting to be chased?

it lived in the woods

to me

it simply seemed to be

a pile of bones.

oddly shaped

painted remains

of rotting wood

that were flaking faded cracked

and unpreserved.

it took up a sacred space

in the forrest

where i often passed.

pulseless.

haunting.

unkind.

bloated with the memories

i would never have.

i took a wide path.

not respectful

nor contemplative.

more often sighing,

ignoring its weight,

feigning a need to hurry a little,

sometimes,

i admit,

with my mind wandering to destruction.

the space between

me

and the bones

full

of half memories - half dreams

of me

small alone and left

staring up at its once frightening height,

this pirate ship of adventure,

with the tree canopy as its sails...

me on the ground,

and you up there

somewhere

traveling in its secret belly

to a life i would never have.