Rendez-nous

If you were somehow transported,
soulwise, for one hour into my dog

lying on her bed under the window,
I would lie beside you on the floor,

my head on the corner of your bed,
my hand resting lightly on your front paws,

my caramel eyes near your caramel dog eyes,
and once or twice I would scratch behind

your pointy ears or idly pat your belly
while you dreamed of chasing squirrels.

I’d whisper, telepathically, your name,
so only dogs, and you, could hear.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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