A starry night is caught in his fur.
He is pensive, as if afflicted.
Is he crying?
Under the nodal point of his forehead
Where one wishes to place one’s own
A flat spot welcomes the hand.
Behind the ears, small,
The mane quivers under the nails
The caress flares: he trembles.
His closed eyes conceal a mystery
Silent, collected,
He is sentinel, and thought.