Tripp

Whoever named you had either
a sly sense of humor
or perhaps none at all,
but one look into your eyes
told me what I needed to know.

You live on puppy-time,
chasing seconds into minutes –
your sleek body coiled with energy,
looking for reasons to spring
into directions that defy direction.

No breeze-blown leaf is safe;
no butterfly free from your twitching nose.
The squirrels and rabbits are at a loss:
they prefer predictability
and favor the familiar

but what do they make of you?
You are unnamable to them.
But you know your silly name.
Your tail beats time
to its every utterance.

That single syllable fills a hole
in my day that was dug by your predecessor,
whose name you have heard
stuttered like an impediment
as I’ve tripped over yours.

You forgive with puppy licks
and seem to know what I’d forgotten:
Names aren’t important.
We learn to live with what we’re given.
We find love by what we give.