Chasing Shadows

The timbre in his voice
has changed when he
calls out to me
in the near darkness of
early morning hallways.
In narrow corridors,
rituals developed.
My best friend used
to run the gauntlet
after I fell asleep—
chasing shadows.

Lengthening his spine to
find the warmest spot,
content sleeping on
rugs next to sneakers,
underneath chair legs.
Pulling himself deeper
into the sunshine.
My best friend used
to circle the carpet
before deciding
where he would lie.

Deliberately climbing onto
sunpainted armrests
to look at the bluejays
or a chickadee
closing his golden eyes.
I admire how small
and intentional he is.
My best friend used
to leap into my lap,
now my back stretches
reaching down for him.