The dog fight on the hill comes to me in winds-

And when I raise my head- the ground has a swell-

The look ahead- something we think we have is her

Allowance- she takes it by bending the river- or-

Like here- raising a hill- but she is kind green peace-

Gives hint- can see the bark- can hear the tail wag-

Can feel the drool- in the air and touch-

The world is a dog fight and it begins with a witness

Down the hill- when monsoon follows somatic winters-

She and the trees droop bend lend an ear of squirrel home-

And drop an oops of bird's nest- so that you never drift into

a black soliloquy- the world is a dog fight; it ends with

a high yelp up in the hill.

~Ajay
15/12/18