All I need are his eyes on mine,

focused as though I am his sun

or the rings on his jupiter, or the globes

that burn like liquid amber

on the terraces of outside bistros.

I want to be his light.

And maybe as I pack and skim

the memories into cardboard boxes and

plastic crates, I want to reach over.

Call him to me. Tell him

that it won’t be long until we can be

together again. That interstellar travel

was invented for nights when

October air sneaks in through the vents

and the sliding glass door at our old home.

That moon beams can communicate

my love better than two cups and some string

and a tennis ball with our initials sketched

in white and black thread.

All I need is his lazy smile and quiet saunter

when he sneaks up to me when I’m in the kitchen

trying not to think about anything hard

like graduation or going away to college

or the thought of not seeing him.

Because all I need is his gentle reminders,

The small tread of his paws on the linoleum

as he licks my calf, telling me it’s going

to be all right. Because all I need

as I pack and move into college is knowing

he’ll be back home, waiting for me,

my beautiful dog.