Short Leash

Give me the short leash,
I said to the man
behind the counter.

No, no rhinestone
studs or silver sheen.
Just the rawhide
woven tight.

It needs to jerk
this dog upright
when the smells
and tastes

of this world
turn him
into the wind.

Don Cadwallader

Published in
Time of Singing–A Magazine of Christian Poetry (Fall 2012)

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