I Remember April

Slow, lovely dog at the window,
hearing the old familiar sights
and remembering, by feel and
by habit, what he used to see.

In his dreams his ears
are pinned back, his legs
moving like pistons, and he is
running, running, running.

He returns every day to the glass,
still seeing behind his cloudy eyes
what he knows is there: the bright
life of other days --and this one.

The nose still works.
The ears are mostly fine.
He sees plenty with the things
that still work. A blessing.

The kind hands still find
him when he needs them.
He trusts the kind hands.
One more blessing.

He is still in this world,
an exquisite carnival of smells.
He trusts the world.
Again, a blessing.

These blessings are his
for being the one thing
he was sent here to be.
Good dog. Good boy.