the water droplets had gathered in every crack;
every mini ocean was overflowing its banks while
a dove cooed aimlessly in the way that only a lover can,
lost and forgotten on the edge of the world.
but my old friend kept walking in that former way,
her gait a prance, and her nose calibrated to life.
she’s older now, less wary of fellow travelers who offer
a calloused hand, a loud bark, or a sudden splash.
and on that final stretch, the place where once we gazed
upon a duck’s urgent flight, I will sit. and so will she
as we pass the time in silence, my hand behind her ears.