Something about the way
this gentle dog engages me
his soft eyes searching mine
looking for clues
but clues to what?
my thoughts?
my feelings?
clues to the human world
so close to his
and yet somehow
just beyond his reach?

He lifts a paw
extending it
for me to take
I hold it gently
in my hand
but still impatient
still dissatisfied
he stares as if
I'm missing
the whole point

Behind these gestures
there's a question
something deep
that neither of us
has yet managed
to articulate
Merwin's black dog
asked "are you ready
this time?"
ready for what?
the poet thought
something to do
with slowing down
with not outrunning
your own life

I don't think dogs
have any notion
of mortality
yet some believe
your dog will be the first
to greet you
when you reach
the other side
If that's my sweet Hassan
then I'll know
that I've arrived
in heaven