She dogs

(literally)

my heels.

Small paws click

across the floor

in hopes of telltale sign

(she reads between

the lines)

of her aim.

We could walk forever

(figuratively)

and not satisfy

her need

to explore those clumps

of grass and slants of

broken curb we’ve visited

before.

I understand —

habituated to routine and

self-made grooves,

I am grateful of her insistent,

pleading

(anthropomorphized…?)

stare.

At leash’s end,

she leads me

(freely)

out,

around,

and everywhere.

 

— C.Birde, 6/19