Two

TWO CREATURES

BILLY COLLINS

The last time I looked, the dog was lying

on the freshly cut grass

but now she has moved under the picnic table.

I wonder what causes her to shift

from one place to another,

to get up for no apparent reason from her spot

by the stove, scratch one ear,

then relocate, slumping down

on the other side of the room by the big window,

or I will see her hop onto the couch to nap

then later find her down

on the Turkish carpet, her nose in the fringe.

The moon rolls across the night sky

and stops to peer down at the earth,

and the dog rolls through these rooms

and onto the lawn, pausing here and there

to sleep or to stare up at me, head in her paws,

to consider the scentless pen in my hand

or the open book on my lap.

And because her eyes always follow me

she must wonder, too, why I

shift from place to place,

from the couch to the sink

or the pencil sharpener on the wall—

two creatures bound by wonderment

though unlike her, I have never worried

after letting her out the back door

that she would drive off in the car

and leave me to die

behind the many locked doors of this house.

{© 2015 Billy Collins}