In the Middle of the Night

In the middle of the night,

the dogs need out,

one has to be carried,

down the stairs,

through the house,

across the porch,


down again,

into the yard.


While I wait,

feet on cold stepping stones,

I look up,

and into the constellations I go.


A dipper spilling stars,

seven sisters swinging on nebulae,

a hunter stalking galaxies.


As I carry the old one back into the house,

I’m thanking her,

and the other two,

for getting me up,

and out.



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