She is peanut-shaped
and her fur is like a field of wheat
that has been shined by the rain
and combed into place by the wind
and then warmed by the sun
she is a hillside
a landscape
an Andrew Wyeth painting
she is North Dakota since the people have fled to the cities
and the prairie has grown back
Laura Ingalls Wilder would live in a dugout house on her
and gather flowers in her buffalo wallows
and describe them to blind Mary
and there would be kittens
So stand with me, on the hillside
and smell her nice dog-smell
and hear her dreams
of youth
and birdcalls
and interesting things, everywhere
and a tiny, twitching nose
and two bulging, wet-brown eyes
closed now
as she sleeps