This is an assumed voice - no worries! It has been reworked since yesterday - to shift the emphasis.

SETTLERS


Barefoot in the sitting room,
treading carpet's yielding pile.

Claiming the pool of sunlight,
my dog arcs her spine, nose to tail,
then round she circles, round and round,
her feathered paws stepping
in a cross-hands dance.

At last she sinks, content:
unseen grasses beaten down.

We make our beds by instinct
and are content to lie in habit,
vowing never to change.

Meanwhile, all around,
the grass continues to grow;

The dog can see it
but my eyes are closed -
tight in prayer.