Just a sliver of light in the sky tonight when I walk the dog. More than usual
he sniffs everything, soaking up the news of the day
without passing judgment, taking it in like he’s never smelled anything
quite like it.

I hum an incantation—
wherever you go, there you are
as my feet nestle into the earth’s scalp
trying to feel how deep the roots go.

He continues to sniff the pinecones and needles scattered around us,
nose dripping with wonder and the feeling of being on the inside of a secret
only the earth can tell.

When you read that line from Ada Limón’s “What I didn’t know before,”
the hair on my arms stands straight up. I’m not talking peach fuzz and ant hills,
I mean long, dark bristles stretching toward the sky making moguls
even Mikaël Kingsbury would second guess. Skin up the mountain,
I’ll meet you at the top. Let’s see how fast we fall.