Shadow Poet

My Rescue Dog

His smelly breath greets me each morning
as he crawls into my warm bed.
Those sad eyes plead for attention
at five‑thirty a.m., he isn’t picky.

He’ll take anything:
a scratch behind the ears,
an arm draped over his back,
the simple comfort of being pulled close.

We drift back to sleep for a while.
When I wake again, he’s staring at me,
as if I’m the best human on earth
and he’s a small, furry god.

I don’t correct him