Sunday Morning

There is a growth -
sometimes on my hip, sometimes
in the morning
running the entire length of my heavy, sleeping body.
The most discernible part of its shape,
two felt ears
perking upright when so much
as my breathing shifts.

Have you ever felt the overwhelming reach
of unconditional love,
even when you were undeserving?

Have you ever felt more at home -
more like appreciating the grass
and the wind -
with the four-legged
than the two?

In the morning
he stretches his mass of sweet fur
across the tiny island that is my bed
just to watch me read
and to smell my coffee.
Black, wet, shiny nose
bobbing in the air.

Some believe there is no cognitive
existence
outside the symbolic order.
But I have seen it in the big, brown, curious eyes
of a cattle dog,
asking me why I'm crying
when there is so much
playing
and belly-scratching
to be done?