You are jubilant
back-rolling on the July ground
right outside our door.
Only another passing
dog
can jolt you into standing.
You touch your paws to their
cheeks and something like kiss
their front teeth.
And after,
you sit and watch them go.
Your yawn like a howling
No.
And you give yourself over
to the molten asphalt drive.
Then you notice me marveling you
and it's enough to coax you back
to the half-devoured grass
where you can't help but dive once more.
Only this time you pretend to sleep,
because from this position
you've learned the sun
will unapologetically
eat your eyes.
