Lying in the grass,
tonight he’ll dream of running
on that forest path.

The peace in caring,
under fog, sun, sunflowers —
the sigh and the breath.

His nose is awake —
under every green leaf,
sadness and delight.

All of this is ours,
wood violet, goldenrod —
the low sun today.

On our way to walk,
in the sun on Sunday night,
we smile all the way.

I think of you first —
Jupiter and Venus lie
back to back at dawn.

Sleeping, both paws curled,
I feel his sleep deep inside,
like a communion.

A Thursday evening —
we’re in the world together,
the sun gathers clouds.

A pattern emerged
early and told them both to say,
“Your story is mine.”