MY DADA

A starry night is taken in his coat.
He is pensive, as if distressed.
Is he crying?
Under the nodal point of his forehead
Where you want to place yours
A flat surface accommodates the hand.
Behind the ears, small,
The mane quivers under the nails
The caress spreads: he trembles.
His closed eyes reveal a mystery
Silent, collected,
He is sentinel, and thought.