While afternoon sunlight bathes my face,
my dog completely licks my open hand,
and then the room feels like a sacred space
in a moment which I hadn’t planned
in which the sunshine and his licking tongue
appear to be related as if they
were cousins soothing me of woes that stung,
each in their inimitable way.
I’m grateful for such moments when I feel
relationships where it seemed there were none
as in the special kinship that is real
between my dog’s tongue licking and the sun.
I’m thankful though by sorrows I’ve been kicked,
for sunshine bathed my face while my dog licked.

Canine Chiaroscuro

Mario A. Pita

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