Dotdot stands statue still, 
a tortie gargoyle, stone-pawed atop
the softness of my hip, she
guards against those encroaching madnesses I 
cannot see yet I 
feel the creeping approach in my bones, my
fascia, my tender places, she
mean mugs into darkness, she
waits out
            the choked sobs, 
            the agonized breaths, the
memories and
when my lungs remember the 
rhythm of recovery she
leaps to find the nudge of my hand her
single concession for cuddles in
these moments, I am completely hers and
held