Old Dog

Pulled by a fragile memory

of an unpardonable deed,

you amble crookedly

to the door.

Relief lies just beyond

–yet

you circle back,

struggling with consumption

of circular destination.

The urgency disappears–

under your toes,

under the long dark arch

of toenails,

tracking back and forth,

back and forth

–paw prints coloring

your relief.