We sleep on each other,
lick on each other,
run around and nip on each other,
we are wholly 'each other,'
personalities
hid
in the ruff and fur around our necks
and the snaggle of our teeth.
We wag in unison
heart-timers synchronized.
When out in the big smell
we seek every scent
that sprout's
from the muddy baths and the great
wafting sky-waves that call to our blood
to come join,
come lope and snuffle.
The trails of other's drives us crazy,
we roll in bundles of ecstasy,
squat, squirt and snap at the thick odiferous airs
then inhale the news from every rump
we greet.
Under our skittering paws
leaf and grass, spatter and scatter
as we charge into each other.
What are these leaves of grass?
Each one could be a page
in poem of sniff and scratch.
The wind threads through our snouts
and we shake our heads
until our brains rattle in wonder.
Old Walt Whitman forgets to mention us,
but deep within his far pacing musings
we are there like an itch.
When he pauses his pen to nap and dream
our breathy huff huffiness
tickles his toes.
Haggard honey-loving homies held Hank’s hamhocks hostage
He hitched his hayrack, having habitual hints hint his huffiness.
Harry harbored horrifically hideous habits, hissing his heebe-jeebies.
Hangdog Hilda hesitated, having heard Hale hinting Harry’s holiness.
Huffy hummingbird Helen hindered Happenstance Hilda’s hayseed habits.
Himalayan Herbert, hayseed harboring hazardous hags, hid Hilda and Helen.
Hallowed horses having hatpins hissed, having had hobo handy hangers help.
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