I move in search of sleep
From the couch to the guest bedroom
From the TV to the IPhone.
After a while, my dog
Leaves her cushion by my bed
And follows me around
Looking worried.
To her, the giver of food and affection
Seems flummoxed by something
As simple as sleep
Which is not a good sign
She shows me
There isn't much to it:
You find something soft on the floor
Turn around twice, plop down, and sigh.
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