Duke is here.

Head hanging over the edge

of his bed

not mine, ever.

I have books piled around him.

He is fine with that.

Earlier he was on a pillow.

Lodged beneath a clean shirt.

Before that he watched his dude

type his own poems

in the other room.

Duke does not understand

crazy people up

in the middle of the night.

Writing things and making noise.

Now he lays, head turned

I can just make out his smile.

He pretends to be annoyed.

But he is a happy boy

sleeping between piles of books.

On his favorite bed.

Laying precariously

on the edge of his world.