I stop what I’m doing, becoming

completely still for the first time

in days, to envision your thin body

stretched on a steel surgical table,

legs tethered to the corners, belly

pink and freshly shaven poking

out of the hole in the blue drape,

tail, no longer wagging, tucked

out of the way, a web of tubes

and cords connecting you to

machines, masked doctors and techs

performing their ballet of precision

as they dance around each other,

making elegant cuts in your torso.

 

I squeeze my eyes together, focus

on sending across the 327 miles

something that feels at first like

a wish but means so much more.

To the doctors I send steady hands,

sound judgment, and the wisdom

to find answers. To you, my sweet

and silly old boy, to you I send

strength for healing, comfort

in your strange surroundings,

and the biggest love I can fit

into this ethereal envelope,

trusting with everything in me

it will be delivered immediately.