behind the concrete, and he comes and finds me.
when i was photographing the caterpillar he was right by me, but suddenly
he left to go find me. i saw a group by the swamp and asked
did you see a dog go by? yes, he went that way, they said,
and like before he circled round the limestone enclosure
and i saw him on the other side, near spider bridge, looking about wildly.
he came running toward, but not right to me. he may in his anxiety
have not been sure i was me. he may have thought i'd be mad, and he was panicky, like me.
i hugged him and said, it's ok, mister, i'm here now. i felt his chest, i felt his heart beat. i see how easily he can lose sight of me, and how he really does look for me.
i know, it's my lookout, but i want to be someone's dog, i want someone to watch over me. i know we're both going through changes, and i know he's changing fast.
we've always watched over each other, and sure he wants to do that more than ever,
but he's changing even faster.
post script. i'm always self-conscious of how many i's and me's i use. in that paragraph i count 27. i know, a lot. i count 16 mister's and he's.
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