It is wonder that brought him here
The deep crease in the bark of a pine
A place to hide things,
And better yet,
A place to go.
Triggers of pine needles
Ants on the earth
Trails of dung hint at animal life
The smell of dog beside him
Where a dog once stood.
The sweet grass, resolute.
The rush of wind surrounds him
Until he folds his collar
Toward his throat.
His fingers freeze above the hem,
But gladly.
This is his world
Far from the cry of men
Far from switches and angry blows
Mysterious solace
Speaking his name.
He knows he’s alive here
Knows the land can protect him
The blue above him a container
Securing both ground
And grass beneath his feet.
If he had his way he’d never leave it.