Value and Reverie
The dog dreams on the rug
legs twitching slightly
and in his dream, I think,
he trots through a puddle,
breaking up the sky.
It’s like a lament that has
been set to music, sung
so beautifully that,
though still a lament,
it lifts the sorrow into joy,
while early October sunlight
slides through grass and leaves
and the dog wakes up
rolls on his stomach
nose pushed forward like a boat
wags his tail once, and sighs.
