To Old Pup

To Old Pup
(on the farm long ago)

’Round and ’round and ’round
in a circle ’til he died
Old Pup walked

In the middle of the field
He’d found though he was blind
I guess he knew how to find it
It was one he’d chased odd sprites across many, many times

He stayed close to the house when he lost his sight
I’d feed him by hand
That day though, he’d refused the meat

Old Pup had his pride

He would not stay where he had ruled in prime
Or lay him down where he once guarded
Too weak and old to stop a fly

He’d left, farewell, without a sound
And found that field...

August sun’s heat rose in waves like cicadas’ buzz
No breeze, no leaves moved, no dust stirred
The fierce heat stilled the countryside
Light green mesquite, buff brown drying weed
The sky, heat faded blue, two small white clouds, utterly still

The only movement, a small tan dog
Going ’round and ’round in a circle
In a barren cottonfield
Looking for a place to die

(to the one he loved, who loved him back
 he gave his loyal life, but hid from me his death
 even now, his last, noble gift
 wets my eyes and steals away my breath)