Dickens and Ella sleep
at opposite ends of the couch.
I watch.
Something rouses Dickens.
He looks at me, eyes wide,
then notices Ella.
He inches his way across to her,
buries his face in her chest;
she wakes to groom him--
his face, his ears, his neck, his front paws.
He nestles contentedly into her,
and soon both again sleep.
God on the couch.
Christ in every quiet moment.
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