One Single Impression: Naked Truth
The little man
Takes me for a ride
On his sense of smell
Circling round and round
This quarter acre patch of snow
He pauses, breathes deeply, snuffles,
Roots with snout and paw...
Moves with his head down as his tongue
Takes note, too--lapping and licking the snow--
And his tail, parallel to the ground, does not wag
He sniffs my own footprint as if we had never met
As if I were not his humble servant tethered to
This inveterate finder of truths--
Which fellow-travelers share this patch of earth,
What do they eat? Where have they been?--
As if we had not done this before.
A few short hours ago.
One Single Impression