by Kate King

My dog pulled me up
to focus on one scent
amid a myriad of others,
to really take it in,
its richness, rankness, recency,
all its glorious nuances.

Grudgingly, I stopped,
paused the torrent of thoughts
that walled me from the forest
and noticed a fledgling magpie
ruffled on a post,
the smoky eucalyptus scent
rising from sun-melted twigs and leaves,
a blowfly feeding on my sweat.

Finished his investigations,
dog and I walked on,
fully present to this place,
once known, now sensed
in all its broken glory.