Little Ode to Taking the Dog Out

The last trip to the yard

for the night, temperature

not minus anything just now.

The day, having lost

its train of thought,

clung to twilight

like a lamprey. It's more

or less shadow anyway,

slide with it.

The dog sniffed the catalog

of each leaf: species and genus,

parent and grandparent

with no regard to religion

or geopolitical passion.

She'd sniff cabbages and fennel

that hold entire futures

in their seeds. She ambled,

storing backyard histories

and liturgies in her

miracle of a dog brain.

She pantomimed

for a drink of water.