Myself

The day I found you, I didn't recognize you.

You had four legs instead of two, and were limping on three of them.

Forehead was lightening-bolted open, ink stains blotted across your back.

You leaned slightly to the right, and couldn't stand up still with your eyes closed.  You couldn't actually close your eyes, really.

And now, hype as fields, you are leaping.

You stretch to the sun instead of inside when you're cold, and you don't scoot around so as to rip open your knees anymore.

Sometimes your hands hurt, but you allow bandages on them.

You don't snarl.

And every day I find you, I realize you are something Made New.