Understand dogs’ love of alcoves,
longing for known shadows. They sense
how wind demands to be ridden
where it stops blowing, oblivious
to the whirlpool of the abandoned heart.
Hence the instinct for huddling
the fear of exposing your back
to the knifing cold. I envy them
the low ceiling of their expectations,
ferocity when backed into a corner:
how they growl and mark their territory
carved out of the betraying wind.
Need is agoraphobic. Even the hermit
crab knows this. How we must carry
the weight of solitude, put up
imaginary walls. Sometimes nostalgia
is more faithful than a dog.
Tap it on the flank, coax it to go.
© Noelle Leslie dela Cruz