One Poem by Clara Changxin Fang

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For My Dog/God, I Write

The dog, who does not know
the word, knows the world,

its body wise to the alphabet
of scents, the perfumed babble

of flowers, the daily broadcast
of rain. Its eye

is the locus of trust, a body
driven by discovery & satisfaction.

Feet stumbling on dirt & pebbles,
nose perpetually in the under

growth, the wayward heart
searches for some evidence of

music, in the unfurling
of vine & daylight, in the

crisscrossing of ants & a dark
burning underfoot.

If I sit still long enough
it overtakes me—

a rush of green spring,
a rupturing.




Clara Changxin Fang is originally from Shanghai, China. She received her MFA from University of Utah and a Master of Environmental Management from Yale University. Her poems have been published in Poet Lore, Literal Latte, Cold Mountain Review, and Verse Daily, among others. She is sustainability director at Towson University near Baltimore, Maryland.

Dog silhouette photo by Gail Johnson, courtesy Shutterstock. is the world’s first online journal of place, publishing a rich mix of literature, artwork, case studies, and more since 1997.