My yellow dog—a silhouette in gold that the sun threw down—small by the Japanese maple,
and scarlet leaves flickered submissive in the breeze as my mind crept out from under the table.
I looked to the tree and I wanted to learn.
Existing at ease, stunning even when unseen,
liberated and wild—but expertly discreet.
Primitive and coarse, still gentle and serene.

My eyes squinted as the fire in the sky displayed its glittery glare and instructed,
I envisioned the world from the source of the flame and my human nature was obstructed.
And then I was a blade of grass, a glowing dog, a burning crimson, leaf-coated tree—
we created a web of energy and the thought of an ego became obscene.  
I was all things and all things were me.

I widened my eyes to a setting scene and knew I’d been reborn. How many times,
had the sun sunk low to ride the line strung across the earth- sky divide?
How many lifetimes had passed?
But my skin was still warm and the grass was still green.
Feeling liberated and absolved,
I acknowledged a golden dog, there at the foot of an antique tree,
and for the first time, I felt the innocence I could see in the eyes of the dog, there within myself.
Innocence I could breathe—like incense, so sweet—cause now I didn’t analyze, I simply felt.