In the narrow bed,
the old man sleeping on his side,
little dog curled
against the small of his back.
And on the wall,
behind him in the soft dark,
hangs the painting, three-quarters life size,
in colors deep and vital, almost alive,
of his last dog for sixteen years, a big dog,
whose monogrammed collar loops over a hook
there on the wall beside him when he sleeps.
The little dog snores and wakes him,
and the old man stirs and turns.
Now the little dog is at his belly.
He reaches, puts his fingers on the collar,
then lowers his hand onto the little dog’s head.
It twitches, blinks, breathes ahhh, and haaa.
Sleep, like a blanket spreads over them both,
like dreaming answered prayers,
or a bed wide enough for three.
Ahhhh
So sweet Sonny my talented friend. There is always room in my bed for at least 3: me, my calico cat Marigold and the many who visit me rang night in my dreams. Makes going to sleep an adventure each night.
2nd to last sentence should read “each” night not rang night.
<3