Dog and I weave our way through giant spines of thorn to braid patience
Hare, tucks, bolts full speed and slides, wet between my ankles mistaking these brown rubber boots for tree trunks
Alive and still able to chase, Old Dog comes thundering up smiling, though visibly disappointed
~ Where's the Rabbit?~
All present, laughed
W.S. Merwin wrote in a poem called, "Separation":
"Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color."
