She follows me,
a slinking, silent presence filled with expectation.
Her coat is dusty.
She’s been rolling in dead leaves,
rubbing her skin against pavement and stems.
a pleasure that will turn to torment with age.
A black ghost, a shadow.
I offer food, water, play, affection.
Green-flame eyes bore into mine.
Stupid human not to understand.
They are everywhere.
She is near the end of her life
and her world is thick with spirits
I can’t see.
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