November morning—
 
an old man walks through the park,
 
greeting all the dogs.

 
 
 

Long before daybreak
 
a dog in the distance barks
 
disconsolately.

 
 
 

Nothing stays the same—
 
pine cones, dog bones, river stones
 
crumble into dust.

 
 
 

the soothing music
 
of wind chimes beyond my fence
 
and a barking dog

 
 
 

In the oak tree’s shade
 
a homeless man and his dog
 
take a midday nap.

 

 
 
 

A siren shatters
 
the peaceful April twilight,
 
waking my old dog.

 

 
 
 

Will you dog my steps
 
if I take the mountain path,
 
wind from the valley?

 
 
 

Midwinter morning—
 
the last stubborn oak leaf drops
 
into the dog’s dish.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
a dog leaves a yellow stain
 
on some browning grass.

 
 
 

Morning by morning
 
four crows alight on my fence
 
for their dog-food treats.