When he wakes up crackling, bristling static
snapping dog teeth, dry thunder in the west
I’ll walk out back down the leaf-soft earth
and lay my weary back on a sun-warm rock
Hear the ruffling creak flow, whisper down the rounded stones
and look up
Sycamores grow tall and bony white
A game warden told me they like to have their feet wet.
What other evidence do i have of intelligent design