By Lisa Lipham Lemza
Their bodies soft,
Improbably compressed,
Curling into commas,
Apostrophes of beguiling rest—
Paws crossed,
Noses tipped with tail,
Snouts tucked,
A contraction of dog.
It all belies
The obdurate muscle coiled beneath,
Which can spring
In a scalding moment,
In a shock of surging power,
Into an elemental something
A burglar would not wish to meet.
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