Lost Name

The tag caught light for a flicker,

metal dulled, scratched by months of rain.

It rolled, a dull clatter

against cracked concrete.

I bent—fingers cold—picked up

that small oval, the faintest print

worn almost away.

No name. No number.

Just a lost loop,

a forgotten ring,

like a last word dropped

into empty grass.

The jogger’s leash snagged it,

a sudden pull,

a loose tether gone.

Now it lies quiet

beside my footsteps.