The Scent of a Puppy's Paw

The pad of a puppy's paw

smells like Swiss chocolate filled with raspberries.

After a rain, it smells like fresh-cut grass.

In the dark, popping out of a feather comforter,

it has the sweet smell of six puppies.

At year end I fall asleep under the spell of

puppy innocence. I dream.

The religious leaders of the world

meet in a cathedral of trees.

Hidden in their garb, arms agreements

rattle like bags of teeth.

Dressed in fur as soft as whipped cream, 

the Solemn Puppy presides.

He lifts his paw as if to shake hands.

All languages are silenced.

Then he dips the paw in ink and

puts his doggie signature

on an agreement to bury global

Bones of Contention.

Forever.

In the morning the waking puppy

licks my cheek with his sandpaper-soft tongue.

I check his rosemary-scented paws for ink.

While I make coffee, he trots out

to pee in the yard.

It was only a dream. 

But at the computer the puppy sits on my lap

and together we check the front page of

The New York Times.

Just in case.