the dog is always
greener

in the land of
pleasant living

if we could pour
our hands

over the promise
of fence

into wild dandelion
weeds of

contentment
on a fake summer

day
the reticent

dog is the one
to pet

not the meme
celebrity

husky
or perhaps

we want
to live again

in the way
that dogs do

refreshing
the page

every fourteen
seconds

or days or
years

the grandma
calls this celebration

of life a resort
and we call

the dealer’s hand
too forgetful

to recall
the spade

drafted in
the lush

unkempt
garden

shuffle
the cards

repeatedly

to delay
the inevitable

(originally published in Pinhole Poetry, Fall 2023)