Poem: An Tíogar

An Tíogar stretches his neck
chin up to the sun
longing to be scratched
behind the ears
never enough

will I ever ride that tiger?
Yes, though perhaps not in this world
but in dreams
big paws pushing the top of my head

I laugh and he roars
stretches and slinks around
in the back of my mind
scattered thoughts as dense a cover
as any lush jungle