I often wonder why I find inspiration in nights of enigmatic torment,
choleric clouds and relentless rain promising bucolic scenes during our
morning walk after the sun rises. Strange, how some time between the driving,
pelting storm, and that subtle morning ritual with you and our dog
could hypnotize me with such dramatic force.
Sometime in between my anger and sadness
you crept around the corner, clutching your pillow
and the stuffed animal I bought you for your birthday -
the stuffed animal you used to own as a child.
You resemble a child now, and my anger dissolves,
and the world disappears, as your puffy eyes and
haltering voice tell me, "I had a bad dream,"
And all I can do is hold you. And I do,
and you will never know to the extent you saved
me from the darkness I created for myself,
Or the providence I find in you, when every touch
and glance is a small miracle to me.