I dreamed last night of our old dog
we called him the “Golden Buddha”
for his colour
and the way he could smell
a person’s grief
even when his arthritis got so bad
that he could no longer climb the stairs
he appeared by my bed
on the second floor
one disorienting night
he must have told his legs
come on, old boys
can’t you hear her crying
take me up there
I have an old wet nose
that needs to find
her hand.