Just beyond the outskirts of New York’s
State capital, a night rain began to tap
The roof, the windows, and
The hen house out back in the yard.
I returned from the bathroom, stepping
Softly over wide-planked wood floors,
Looking up to meet the perked-ear gaze
Of my friends’ dog, who had snuck
Back to the bed officially reserved
For guests, but most nights,
Actually hers alone. She
Knew, and I knew, she was meant
To find some other sleeping place.
I paused, we both blinked, and I climbed
In, sliding my toes and legs beneath
The covers, just to one side
Of my silent and warm companion
Lying atop the duvet, who paused
A long, rain-thumped moment
Before venturing to rest her muzzle
Across my two blanketed shins.