Presence
Nov 17 2016


Walking dogless
my thoughts turn in.

Hardly there
I ghost through the woods, unaware;
birds unflushed
squirrels, unmolested. 

Because the world is thin.
Its mulch
has lost its earthy redolence,
the rabbit’s scent
that will decay unread;
molecules
of age, and sex
and when.

The water
tumbling over polished rock
that will not quench,
rotting sticks
resting where they fell.

I walk alone,
lost in rumination 
chafing to be over.

Until I find myself back home.
Like those long habitual drives
I know so well, I can’t remember,
muscle memory
getting me there.

So I miss 
avid nose, pressed to the soil,
excited tail
confessing all.

Miss 
the presence of dogs;
grounding me,
as once, we made our way. 



“Presence”:   as in being present; as in present tense, exempt from future and past. We learn much from dogs. But this, I think, is their greatest gift.

Time also enters into this poem in the appreciation of smell; which, unlike vision, contains time as well as space. 

I like ending on made our way. It implies not only intention and attention, but improvisation:  one doesn’t make one’s way according to a schedule. It’s a good counter-point to ghosting through.