the head on my ankle

You rest your snout upon the crook of my ankle
and stare ahead across the room
as I do,
gazing thoughtless as the day before.

But what to contemplate?
Your chew toy
or cushion
where the bones are buried?
Or pigeon on the ledge?


the empty air
between buildings
above vacant streets
longing to
with the world,
as I do?

You bark an alarm,
scattering wings
from ledge

that steady
and glide
upon the void.