Is It Begging – This?

Is it begging, this
impatient chin on your chair’s
arm, or a question

about who you are,
a haired creature like him, yet
sitting with papers

or staring across
the room at a large, lit screen
with no smell at all.

Not now, you tell him,
but now’s what sends him to you
with his alert ears

that seem to listen
to what you don’t say, before
he closes himself

inside the circle
he makes for his dream. Is it
you he cries for there

by your chair, his legs
now quickening, returning
him to his senses?