Each trunk got treated-
the drops missing nothing,
save the sand between the roots
and the tunnels dug
beneath them.

Dry and warm-
is nothing when the air pulls
wet to your lungs,
and the woods are shiftless,
the footsteps in the sand are still.

Tides in the water
roll to slaps on the rock.
He paces through, barefoot-
feeling the quiet go on-
letting the dogs unleashed.