Forgotten Glimpses

Who saw me today,

out walking with my dog?

Who was the driver in the car

that slowed down for us to cross the road?

Who caught a glimpse of my upper half,

tucked into my coat,

glide by a window?

And who trailed way behind me

on a muddy lane,

my hands hid in my sleeves,

my head inside my hood,

rain tap-tap-tapping in my ears,

my dog asking for my voice in jumps and spins,

seeking some gentle assurance before running ahead,

leaving me with thoughts I can no longer

remember?