We walk daily; Fuzz, so ravenously alive,

reclaiming spots he owned the day before,

brashly stolen, claimed by a vagabond mutt.

This was my take at first, his selfishness:

primal greed.

Now I see only frantic glee of knowing wafted

through quivering nostrils scripture enshrined in golden globes

left to entice on green/grass blades and sticks.

He wears the mantel of joy reading ecstatic visions;

cheeks pulsating, pulling in holograms only he can see.

wonders I can never see….never imagine!

Fuzz is joyous in his bliss of piss and I

cursed with crude senses, can only cry for his joy;

for joy is joy, not to be diminished.

If he in canine/glee jerks our tether in disregard of me,

I still can only smile though yanked, drug hard

from bush to yellow spot of grass and post.

The blissful are pardoned for thoughtlessness.