My little dog walks with me in the twilight—
percussion of paws affirming again
that contract his people made so long ago:
his vigilant loyalty, my shelter and food.
He knows it by heart, each yod and each tittle,
keeps it entirely, quite sure it is good.

I think back to Adam—his joy in discovering
a world, its creatures all looking towards him:
‘Describe us, define us! Tell us what we are!’
Linnaeus’ father, in Edenese breathing:
‘Canis familiaris! Follower faithful,
companion in difficulty.’ (But what is difficulty?)

He named on, with knowledge— ‘From-man-taken: Woman!’—
all life pulsing purity, simple and perfect.
Then, after the fall, lamenting his action:
‘blunder incredible, breach irreversible’,
in agonized rhythm with steps to the exit—
ashen taxonomies, doubling regret.

They injured each other with recrimination
(so much skill at naming!) night after night,
heard by the dog in the arc of the light.
Sometimes, quite early though,
maybe hope nudged itself,
snuffling, deep into Adam’s awakening

of a dawn, inexpressible.