bruce

[tsriker]

this gentlest touch
late summer sun on
black fur, whitened muzzle
a still sleek lab
curled by the door
resting, sleeping,
dreaming
of blue skies, laughter,
a toy sailing high above
ahead of his sprint
his rush
his jump
his sudden
catch
and landing
again, and again
and again, and again
so many times
through years
through weather
now
he shifts in his sleep
stretches, groans a little
hears the screen door
and he's up, ready, eager,
running flat out still
across bright green grass
bluest sky above
running
planning
anticipating
leaping
once more
again, and again
always