You love and give, and want it all,
Expecting nothing in return.
Your kind’s love is as full of the angels’
As ours lacks of kindness.
You took on a name that wasn’t yours
And made it mine to call you by.
Though you’re flawed in more ways
Than you’ll ever know,
You’re there and not there,
Around when I’ve needed you most—
More than you’ve needed me—
Slumbering sweet on my rug,
Next to my feet, and under my heart.
In the silence of your innocent stare,
You always know what to say,
Knowing me best by the tip of your wet nose
Than your densely foliaged irises.
Living life, basking in its shortness,
Not caring about its insignificance,
But clinging to its fullness;
Your endless affection—
Learned by wild rote more than noble rite—
Kindles still in my mind;
Kindred souls meant to hunt together,
Forever our flesh craved
The empty heat of the moon
Branding silhouettes on the quiet grass-blades:
Cutting, unmoved by our speed’s breeze;
Steeling before their trampling;
Bent, broken, ripped from the root
As the heart whose grip
Your weathered paws never trained me how
To release from its leash.
Copyright © 2018 by Jose Oseguera.
