Mia’s long sleek body arcs over Switchgrass
and Side Oats, Antelope Horns and Butterfly Weed.
Her nose and flews quiver to pull in scent—feral
hogs and gunpowder, cat piss and deer scat.
But more: she tracks the disruption my body
has left in its wake, the displaced molecules
as they swirl through her neural scrollwork,
the air regrouping behind me, the erasure
of shape that still trails my trace
as I wait to be found.