For all bifurcating branches
Sublime in their simplicity,
A dog has very little need
Indeed, yet with joyous barks
No less retrieves
Inherent interventions
Between what we deemed
Essential, or inbetween,
Or instead invented;
This contrast is at times
A subtle one,
Like sunlight through
Doppelganger-dappled leaves,
Ever since antiquities
In these dark-shaded parks
Of our entwining souls;
Yet if not for that twisted,
Rotten tooth of birch
In boggy undergrowth,
There would be no us,
Nor any running dog at all.