From my hip to knee, she leans in with gentle pressure yet firm intent, her will steady even amidst dreams, my small black and white dog, warm against me.
She looks like a giant furry caterpillar in autumn snug in a spot out of the wind even though here on our couch together, there is only unmoving rest
while rain tatters incessantly on the tiles above, the soft sound of a heater resonating with snores of the other black dog in a den under an end table.
My wife hands me things I need from other rooms so not to disturb such a sincere straight embrace right from the heart of a little animal so open
to the gusts of affection blowing amongst us, stretched out lengthwise in trust of long hugs, breathing in and out a steady close care.
Glen A. Mazis taught philosophy for decades at Penn State Harrisburg, retiring in 2020. He has published 100 poems in literary journals, including Rosebud, The North American Review, Sou’wester, Spoon River Poetry Review, Willow Review, Atlanta Review, Reed Magazine and Asheville Poetry Review, and the collection, The River Bends in Time (Anaphora Literary Press, 2012), a chapbook, The Body Is a Dancing Star (Orchard Street Press, 2020), and Bodies of Space and Time (Kelsay Books, 2022). He is the 2019 winner of the Malovrh-Fenlon Poetry Prize (Orchard Street national contest).
