healing begins

Slept well, woke rested.
After weeks of restless grief-sleep,
Eyes open, heart smiles.

*****

Art heals.
So they say.
An afternoon in the sun,
At the patio table doing art.

And if he were still alive,
My dog would be lying
On the flagstone
Beside me,
Always beside me,
Lifting his head now and then
To look at me,
Sniff the air,
Watch the birds
Swooping in to land
On the nearby feeders,
Shifting his hips
Now and then.
If I say his name,
Rising to bring his head
To my lap,
Waiting for my pets,
Insisting I continue,
Lifting my hand when I stop.

Is it art that heals?
Or the felt presence
Of an old friend?
Or the birds?

Or an afternoon in the sun
With all three?

Who can say.

What I know
Is I slept well
And woke rested.