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Dog’s Gaze She alerted us when she stopped on the path and stared into the wood, on a diagonal line on her right like a taut string, sudden, unwavering glance, from it to us, threading eagerness, asking for immediate acknowledgement. But she had been too fast, we couldn’t catch the line at once and seconds passed in shafts of sunlight and the distilling, quivering shadows. Then we grabbed it, the string from her eyes, and took in the branch with the still squirrel on it, carved in air, staring back, needles of eyes reflecting suspended crumbs of space. Instants and it was gone, up in its maze of leaves and sky. But she didn’t stop staring at us, most surely she was following its way. Much beyond our useless watching. Much beyond all we miss and she catches. A missing I feel we fill with faith. That’s why eyes like hers can be scrutinized for ages, like when we stare at a fire where all that was lost waits and stares back. - David Trame