Old dog wanders from room to room looking,
for ghosts of owners no longer with us or him.
Sometimes he struggles to jump on the couch

where he does small circles then curls on the spot
where my wife used to sit; this triggers my sadness
at her passing, wonder what the old dog is thinking.

Yesterday, old dog stood at the back door, his signal
that he wanted to go into the garden where he'll 
make the rounds of the beds along the fence, sniffing,

digging a bit as if trying to find my green-thumbed wife
with whom he'd spent most mornings as she tended
her bodacious border of colorful spring flowers.

I fear I may pass before the old dog, being rather
ancient myself. Wonder where he will sniff and search
for me, as I become another ghost from his past.