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My Dog and I Go Worshipping Flight

 
 
 

The first walk of the day when the bracken 

is still damp from morning’s rain

and fence posts are footed in mud,

I bring the ball colored like the underside

of a glacier or belly of a salmon. 

I throw it and my dog runs after until

she is as small  as the cupped

hand shading my eyes. 

 

She leaps, but neither crests like a whale

or makes a bell or parabola 

or any algebraic curve; she jumps forward

to meet the ball the way an eagle

glides parallel to the river, talons

outstretched,  grasping a pale bellied fish.

She opens her mouth and body, takes the ball

in, and only then does she acknowledge

ground, species, limitation.

 

This is part of the temple I build to the day,

that moment when my dog disbelieves

the earth. She and I go worshipping

flight; her ears unfurl  like sails

when the bracken is wet with rain.

 

 

Category: My articles | Added by: Kristin (03.28.2013)
Views: 298 | Comments: 1 | Rating: 0.0/0
Total comments: 1
1  
I'd like to meet your little lapdogs, they sound sweet. Do you remember Tammy, our collie/cocker, who was still living when we knew eachother as teens?
Chinese chicken wings sound awfully good right now......

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