My puppy is a bent star,
his edges curl over as if he has been dented
by life.
He was.
Stoned and abandoned,
he foraged for food
and found his way to a school
peopled by humans, some kind
some otherwise
All hurt or bent themselves
Their souls struggling to be
free, open, alive.
He was saved
and brought to me.
I struggle between companionship and freedom
He offers one but denies the other,
What if I saw them as the same?
Then bent edges would unfurl
His and mine
and we'd shine and refract the light
still slightly bent but
Bright.
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