Whenever she bends over he performs a standing leap
up from the floor and gently lands upon her spine.
She doesn’t mind him there. He’s as light as air and she
enjoys him; he has a predilection for the warm affection
with which she provides him transport, so it’s fine.
Last night she dreamed of being interviewed by Charlie
Rose about their bond – what made it so absorbing
and enlighteningly fond. The tv lights were hot and bright.
“What do you do to get along?” asked Charlie Rose.
“We traffic in affectionate contrivances,” she said,
as she’d rehearsed the line. But no, that was all wrong,
that labored coyness; it niggled in her spine. But she’d
no other to supply. Charlie smiled and said goodbye.
Abashed that she agreed to being questioned on tv, she
woke and rose up from her pillows – when like a breeze
through Weeping Willows, her companion leapt back up
onto her back and filled again whatever lack she might
have thought she’d had. With him, she’s never sad.