There is a paper waiting to be written,

something upon dogs, humans, and

what feels like

the syncing of electromagnetic fields (ref)

but every time I get to it

the dog, currently, laying at my foot

flinches.

—

I have now taken the route of writing poetry

and I swear, I can hear it groan still.

—

Halfway through the poem,

Nature plays its course

Another dog calls for this one,

and without any concern

for science, poem or prose,

it jumps.

And so the poem ends here.