With a Whimper
In her green round pillow, she lies within
the deep sleep of the soulless, resting
without wondering about the state
of the world and humankind.
Brown ears twitch at random as she sinks
perfectly into the dog-shaped crevice
visible even when she leaves her nest.
She often hears the things I do not,
and now her dreams speak to her.
Her front leg, paw too big for the rest
of her, begins to wiggle. The dream turns
dark. Legs start fruitlessly pawing the air,
small whimpers burst from her mouth.
In another land, one only she sees,
those whimpers are screams. And I realize
she may not be as soulless, as peaceful,
as I had hoped. I put my hand to her panting
chest, saying her name gently, bringing her back
to this world that, while at times cruel,
often saves us from our dreams.