Glad Dog Applesauce

Our old black dog, as usual, flopped
down to sleep as close to you as he could
(That's HIS bright rug where he pretends
to be a still life--sometimes I have to look
carefully for the quick rise and fall,
still alive), so you painted him in,

a sweet patient presence in our lives,
here drowned out by eager gladioli
that mean little to us, and both these
and the dog are rendered flat, decorative
by a palpable jar of water that means
nothing to us--

and if anyone cares for this jar, this sprig
of pink flowers flauting red hearts,
it is because you painted them
from within a caring presence,
surrounded by an old, almost absent dog's
love for you (richly present) and yours for him
(as indistinguishable as air from air)

which now, through the flowers, jar
and dance of light in water,
all touched by it,
reaches out to us, too.

Dean Blehert

Last Updated: October 6, 2002