Dog Of My Heart (revised with thanks to Laura)

Dog of my heart,
why won’t you hunt?
Why are you stifled
and panting?

Dog of my heart
with your long orange tongue
and your back-ruffled fur,
why are you hiding?

Dog of my heart,
leaper of turnstiles,
with your shadow-deep bark and
your tail on the go,

dog of my heart,
why are you sleeping?
Fetch me a notion
to worry and chew —

I’ll fill in for you
until you are well,
crawl through the mud
on my belly.

Dog of my heart,
rib-ridged and matted,
why won’t you come
when I call you?

Why are you silent
when danger comes round?
It’s not like I trust my own
instincts —

dog of my heart,
why won’t you hunt?
Why am I sitting here
weeping?

If the news of the moment
is curdled and sour,
if the prey that we seek
is retreating

before what we offer
to draw out their hunger,
why must I do this
alone?

Dog of my heart,
muse with a collar,
come back to me
and I promise

that we will go hunting,
we will catch fire,
we will bend all our breath
into baying

at the moon,
at the sun,
at the fox we can’t name,
at the quarry we’re sure is still out there.

O dog of my heart,
I sing of compression,
I need your senses
to expand me,

to keep us on point,
to keep me alive;
dog of my heart,
my ambition.