There are dogs who will follow you 
perpetually and as gladly 
as if it were their purpose in life, 
at least while in the act of following you. 

Other dogs enjoy being followed. 
They sniff around, look back, then run ahead. 

W. B. Yeats, so monumentally heartsick, 
spent his boyhood summers 
following a black dog and a white dog 
around the hilly Irish countryside, 
as if that were the purpose of his life, 
which it might have been at the time. 

Clearly, there are worse practices 
than spending your time following a dog 
whichever way she may roam 
into the woods or across a stream. 

How would it be possible 
to slap a child or smuggle arms 
to a band of wrathful guerrillas 
if you’re busy keeping up with a dog? 

So, instead of following your bliss, 
follow around some lighthearted dog. 

Surely, it’s better than doing nothing, 
if anything were better than doing nothing, 

which, setting dogs aside for now, 
is said to be the best thing one can do 
or not do, but in a positive way, forever, amen.