Ode to dog

Patient as feet, he follows mine
as if he lacked four of his own.
His tongue is as long as August noon.
He never stoops for the lost coin,
but he's master of the brown-
eyed word for "please."
He sets his watch to my alarm.
He lies down in three circles.
He runs hard, sleeping; he itches
in his dreams. He sings to sirens.
Trees of all faiths receive
his blessing, as does the moon,
the waxing mooon, the mooooon,
which he draws out long and full.