Our three shepherd-dogs lay beside the trailer
as we loaded bed, couch, chairs.
The two cats prowled unfamiliar empty
spaces in the house
as we drove off. We came back without
the upholstery of their lives. We slept downstairs
on the floor, the old house full of whispers.
Two dogs snuggled at our feet, cats paced the dark.
At four in the morning, the old-lady dog
who no longer climbed stairs or heard my voice
barked from the loft that used to be
our bedroom. I found her at watch, eyes
wide-open glazed with old-dog reflection,
wishing I could see. In a new house
she’d be lost. Barking where-are-you room to
room, by Christmas she’d be gone.