Bobby Asleep on My Pillow

When Bobby sleeps on my pillow,
sometimes I get close. He won’t bite me.
I put one hand on his side.
Feel him breathe the tide of life,
coming in, going out,
rising and falling.
And I match my breathing to his,
the rhythm, cadence and flow of his breath.
I listen for Silence.
My ear is cocked to catch
the calm that caused the world,
the peace that fills the valley,
so I’m not afraid.
Ok, so, now I lift up
the soft muzzle of my sleepy dog.
I wait until he blinks, focusing,
with eyes wide awake only for me.
Then I look into his eyes,
ancient time set in amber,
gazing deeply, the iris and the pupil, how they change.
I stay for a minute like that.

Two or three if I could,
but I might forget to breathe.
Because right there, in Bobby’s face,
I see God in the beginning,
His odd intention of Love,
His mighty soulful stare
into the depths of my story:
Me, here, looking back at Him.