The little black puppy,
hardly large enough to fill a vase,
sleeps in my lap, breathing soft breaths.
Her hind leg twitches and I wonder
at her dreams. Are there nightmares
of iron bars and lights that never go out?
Or does she dream of those days
when inquisitive children lifted her,
cooed over her, and for a little while,
she could pretend she belonged to them?
The little black puppy
opens her wide, liquid eyes and gazes
up at me, as if she senses my own thoughts.
I rub her tiny head with a forefinger
and she closes her eyes in bliss.
For a little while, this is her home,
though perhaps she thinks this is forever.
She settles back down into my lap,
this little forgotten soul,
and drifts away to dream, dream, of home.