He sprawls
On a deep white sheepskin.
The black stove’s heat
Draws him back
To summer days, spread like a blanket
On the sun-warmed sand.
Feet flick in sudden spasm,
Galvanised by phantom rabbits:
In this new universe
He wears cat’s claws
And in the treetops
The squirrels have stopped laughing.
One eye upturned
Haw-hooded, a frozen pool.
Deep in his wordless mysteries
He runs alone, unowned, unmastered
On private paths and secret ways
I cannot know or follow.
Gonecycling (again) 
Brought back memories of my old dog…he would bark quietly in his sleep….could only imagine what or who he was chasing.
I’d love to know what goes through their minds, especially when the sleep-barking starts (one of my favourite sounds). Years ago, I started writing a series of stories for my daughter about the adventures our dog had in his dreams; maybe I should finish it…thank you for your comment, as always, and trust the memories were happy ones. N.