Bear dog.

Pushing through the dusty husks of corn,
harvest massacre with cut stalks left sharp and defensive.
He runs past me and a thread of conscious winds after him,
though my eyes are on the bare tops of my feet,
and the nettles I navigate treaties with.
How it is, to share awareness, to be at that level
of respectful control, co-existence and
food two, maybe three times a  day.
At least half the time you do what I say.
And it is nice to sleep without weapons at night,
when you keep the terrors at bay.


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