This by Ruth Stone from "What Love Comes To, New and Selected Poems."
The dog is God.
It knows it is God.
It is God living with God.
Even in the rain,
the esters, the pheromones,
calligraphy of the sacred,the great head points into the wind,
the blood thrashes in the thick veins.
The language of the feces, urine,
species, rut, offal, decay --
nothing is hidden from the dog,
who keeps its own cousel,
leading you by the leash.