Spine of a Dog
Spine of a dog curves away from me and against, as heat
of a tired dog warms my skin through my sweater, through his fur.
He lies, front paws matched, chin tucked alongside them, neat.
One still beast; one, antsy with pen at arm’s end, cramming
the months and years and lives with rehearsals, games, dinners—
One morning—for a blink—a black rabbit
forages in downtown Seattle. I witness,
grin—the rabbit knows shortcuts
I do not want to be
remembered for my urine.
In this I differ from
the chowchow and Welsh corgi
who yearn to soak the earth…