Spring

It is too cold to leave my bed these mornings
I linger but not too late in the day
Black dog makes the leap
Then settles down beside me
As natural as if the bed was his
As if I had called him up when all I did was stir
The light is still so dim in the room that
When he turns his head towards me I cannot see his eyes
As morning light filters in, he studies my face
He seems to be contemplating my disease
He seems to be messaging me a great amount of sympathy with his stare
This morning he lifted his paw and landed it heavily on my chest
Like a hand, like a bridge