Awake.

18

My zabuton doubles as a dog bed.  Rose sleeps 
there, full to the fur with mu.  Glanced in
on a moonlit night; her slight white figure coiled
on the green cushion, shaking with quail dreams.
Sensing me, an eye opens, single tail wag.  Back to
         sleep.
When she's awake, she's so awake I'm ashamed
of my own warm water dance, my sitting too long at
         the fire.

Jim Harrison