Gentle Reader,

Forgive me for my lapses this month, 
but I have lost my dearest Editor,
and the dog cannot read.

I am grateful she understands
 a few spoken words, such as “cookie” and “outside,”
her hearing being most excellent.

But, as her muzzle has greyed,
her eyes have gone milky:
she is wont to bark at the neighbor’s new mailbox.

It is no small comfort
that she curves herself against my back in sleep
and sits in a chair next to me as I write.

That she follows me from room to room– 
when I myself have forgotten why I went–
perhaps illustrates my unedited situation: 

how we meander through rooms, 
my furry shadow and I, 
as if looking for someone to give us purpose.