I never saw things from your
point view. You never said as much but I could see
it in your eyes. That and the maddening prescience you tried
to hide, distracting me with
feigned puzzlement, a neat sleight of hand
turned with an economical tilt of the head, a prick of the ears,
a trick I’ve been working on when I’m all
alone. You’d laugh, a fly on the wall, to see me
descend the stairs on all fours to growl at the mailman.
A complicated piece of choreography, one
you always managed with aplomb and a ferocious
sense of dignity woefully missing from my performance.
I’m afraid I haven’t yet got the hang
of overturning the kitchen trash can and
scattering the contents throughout the house
and no amount of practice will improve
my hearing. But if you happened to walk
in right now I’m sure you’d smile to see me asleep
on my back in a patch of warm
sunlight, legs going, dreaming of fields
of rabbits and elusive tennis balls and your undying love.