She is with us
because of nomenclature.
the odd way that we that we become
what we are called.
I had pondered “dovima”
but none settled in her eyes,
or moved the mouth with comfort
in her steady soon to turn green
And when she pressed her forehead to my chest,
with hind legs stretching,
I remembered sitting with you on the bench
waiting for the table
or waiting for a friend
and looking up at a sign.
“that would make a great name,”
And you took my hand.
And I think you agreed.