When someone says they’re proud of what a friend
accomplished or the way a soul behaved,
I get it, but I more than comprehend —
to me the feeling pride suggests they saved
or urged or counseled, had some agency,
and now they are acknowledging good work.
I don’t mean to dispute the eulogy,
but pride from distance seems to carry murk.

I process language differently than most.
I used to watch my dog react to scents
and understood my nose was like a ghost
compared to hers — her smell intelligence
described existence alien to me.
Just so, I’m made of diverse glossary.