Charlie curls like a comma at my side,
black-and-white punctuation to a long day.
His fur smells of wind and grass and home,
ears twitching at dreams only sheep could know.
A border collie’s heart beats quick and bright,
but here it slows, syncing with my breath.
One paw draped over my wrist—
as if to say stay, as if I ever wouldn’t.
Outside, the world keeps making noise,
inside, there’s just warmth and trust.
His eyes half-mooned, mine finally resting,
we learn the ancient language of quiet.
In this small gravity of shared heat,
nothing asks more of us than now.
Therapy Bits 
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