On Another Plane

             On Another Plane


He doesn’t look up at the sky,

pays no attention to the sun or the moon,

and at night, when I gaze

with curious longing, at the stars,

he, at the other end of his lead,

does not seem to notice them at all.


Yet I wonder when he barks, peering

through the window, into the dark,

at some sound I am unable to hear,

and he turns, looks at me as if to say,

what’s wrong with you? Why don’t

you react to such significant comings and goings?


So when we walk, and he stops,

to smell, and smell again,

all the secret odors of the land,

then runs in circles, to return,

to where he started, to sniff there once more,

In my mind I ask what it is he knows, that I am missing.


In our separate ways, we dissect

the fluctuations and the realms

wherein we’re residing, he the plethora

of his sensuality and his senses,

I, what I call the intellectuality of my being,

and I question, I skeptically question, which is the more satisfying?