Cayce Jones Unbound

The dog strains against his harness,
Pulling along the hand that follows him,
Guiding with restraint behind him, unseen,
Along paths sanctified by our manifest spirit.

Together we walk the worn road,
His nose twitching with each new scent,
Borne on the morning breeze,
For him the adventure blooms anew.

This walk, our communion, builds our bond,
His trust in benevolent order grows,
My loneliness in the world tempers,
As the sun casts his shadow on the pavement.

Down the hill we go, into the valley,
We tramp a shady glen by the highway,
The smell of death lingers on the ground,
He rolls onto the decay and they are one.

His cognition is primitive, carnal,
Yet his horizons are not long,
Were they, he might whittle away
With his teeth the nylon fabric that binds him.

That day he would break free, and bound off,
Down the iceplant embankment, into new territory,
Consummate the abolition of his captivity,
Corporeal thirst for blood finally quenched.

He will always come back to me,
He knows our plot is safe and sane,
That I will keep his food bowl full.
His water bowl runs over as he drinks.

His home will be here for the rest of his life.