I watched you sniff the jacket, meditative,
lost in the smell of green fleece, not noticing my eyes
on your face. Later, foraging for food,
you found a fuzzy thing, failed to eat it.
Did you notice me then, looking at you?
Did you feel my gaze like the rain on your back,
standing under a hole in a roof?
                                 I have always
lived as though being watched, just over
my shoulder, discussing me with a friend, mulling,
mouths open to the side, like a movie.
                            But I don’t think
that you’ve ever thought of me that way, some
god, benevolent or otherwise, tending you, shephard-like,
toward some mysterious end. I envy you,
dog, your wholeness in yourself. In your own moments
you need no other reality but your nose, your tongue.
I don’t know how not to lean, a broken shack.