Silent Paws

Leather rough and worn,

a collar forgotten in a drawer,

dust motes dance around the edges—

a ghost leash held in silent hands.

I trace the frayed edges,

finger nails catching the split leather,

a sharp breath caught in my throat.

He shook his head once more,

shaking loose the world he carried.

Years ago, but the collar still holds

that weight of absence,

quiet pawprints fading in the dust,

and a tail wag stuck between heartbeats.

Some names vanish,

but this quiet weight lingers,

the soundless slap of paws

on floors that remember.