a half-circle of light

“Psst…, hey dog. You asleep?”
Late morning’s sun painted a pale-yellow tilted rectangle on the worn carpet, and she laid within its gold-dust amber, only half-asleep, thinking of those things mainly dogs think of, on sunshine-window mornings.
She hadn’t replied, of course, but did move a furry ear to acknowledge that she’d heard me.
I sat on the floor beside her, a day without a wish to be perched upon furniture or any desire for the falsity of high places.
I rubbed gently behind her ear and then made a mocking motion of door-knock knuckles rapping the air over her head, also mouthing the sound.
“Knock, Knock.”
She barked, running for the door.
Barking and jumping
barking and jumping
nearly reaching
the small sunlit windows
that formed an arch
a half-circle of light
at the top of the door
she was barking
and jumping
barking
and looking
back
to me
to see
if I
still remembered
why

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