Dog consciousness is timeless.

it’s been suggested our

understandings of the present,

of what that means or is,

differ; are two buried sets:

disparate treasure troves

secreted deep in our

respective skulls’ bone-yards.

our human timing all finite and

contingent, and yours simply

elastic; almost unconcerned.

think smell rather than sight:

its self-same bleeding both

before and, yes, after. omen

and denouement all at once, if

at once was a thing. that rich

allowance.          and this must

explain how you love, how you

live, unconditional: that

near-constant licking, the thick

fart, the near- crocodiled yawn.

that sigh that empties your

small, small frame and fills the

room all at once.           and

this surely explains how i am

left only with memory’s

specious, two-footed

argument; with words and

their iambic trying, while you:

you are still doggedly

swimming in the thick midst of

it all, unconsciously paddling

through some kind of unending

wet-dream of now, and of

now, and of now:

—Photo credit: strangedejim/Flickr