Asylum
We stroll through wet woods, the collies and I, listening to birdsong and gazing at flowers. They chase chipmunks and follow the scent of deer. Now and then they perform a trick—Sit! Stay! Speak! A whole poetic scene right in the middle of nowhere. Everybody gets a treat, no one is forsaken, and nothing’s crooked but the trees. Far, far from here, Father Time locked away in a Memory Unit.
