Blind Dog's Path

She talked of him, that old excuse,

and in her voice, a gentle plea.

I saw the leash, the self-abuse,

and how she kept her loyalty.

A tired dog, by the foggy pane,

waits for a step, a familiar key.

The world moves on, through sun and rain,

but in that spot, it waits, you see.

A stubborn faith, a quiet harm,

a chosen blindness, hard to break.

I know that feeling, keeping warm

a ghost for comfort, for its sake.

The scent of betrayal, long since gone,

still marks the floor where it carried on.