Old Blind Dog

a black dog, who likes to wander

her eyes surrender to the Sun

her ears folded like the shrinking plant

i watched as she made her way around the block

slowly, steadily, with no caution

her skin wrinkled like my never-ironed shirt

is she happy?

walking to the unknown,

when days become nights

streetlights are tired fireflies

does she like it, smelling everything for the first time

and maybe the last time.

we start to forget things

as we get older and weaker

so we can keep living

knowing that life is ending somehow

and today, we take a breath for the first,

and maybe the last time.

t.l.