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she came on a Sunday

left on a Wednesday

it wasn’t like it was a special day

she liked leaves

and maybe be leaving too

come to think of it

when it’s time to go

let ‘er go

ears against the wind

flipped inside out

the way they should be

Postscript, if there is such a thing: My beloved beagle, Poppy, has been missing since last Wednesday. She had been playing and running, a delightful sight for a seven-year-old nap-centric dog who’d had cancer (twice!) on one of her legs and an affinity for eating foods deemed “The Most Fatal Foods For Dogs.”  The wind in her ears, mouth stretched into a smile, she ran toward me before psyching me out and turning the other way. She trotted off and that was the last I’ve seen of her.