Old-Dog Blues

She says I love him more
Truth is,
I love him more anxiously
. . . because I can see his future from here

And it is bound by seasons,
not years

I go easy, then,
when his “clink clink clink”
draws me from my sleep again.
And again we wend our clumsy ways downstairs,
his muzzle nudging the back door
for relief
or escape
or whatever it is he thinks he may need

I melt the window’s frost with a fist,
trying to spy him in the black night
to make sure that he returns

I love him anxiously these days,
wrapping myself around his worn warm body
half on the lumpy bed he calls his own
I love him with milk
and words
and touches
and walks

I love him with time, the one thing I feel
slipping through my fingers

These woolly, condensed lives
are hard on us all

. . . which is why I love him anxiously these days.