By the shed, a Japanese Maple burns
over brown seeded heads of summer plants,
where your shit lies, damp with the sheen of dawn.
You strained here,
pink sphincter stretched
white over weak legs.
You pushed the brown head
onto fallen leaves with a leech
of blood and looked for me.
There’s a print of your paw near the back door,
and by the shed, where maple leaves flame red,
the ridged twist of your bowel on faecal clay.