Squirrel – Lynn Ungar

Every day at the park
the dog goes mad chasing squirrels
that he will never catch. The busyness
of the squirrels is unending,
and so is his pursuit. He has no concern
for sense or safety, would gladly
follow his obsession
in front of an oncoming car.
And so every day we practice
coming back. I call his name,
and mostly, on a good day,
he circles gleefully around to me
before heading out again.
Every day, over and over,
that futile chase and the return.
Every day, a galloping dharma talk
on the discipline of calling out again
to my scattered mind,
to my grasping soul,
that it is time to come home.