Sweet spirit,
midnight motion
nips at the edge of my pant leg
reaching for my heart…
I long to take
your mud-matted
fur
into my arms,
bury my face
in your rolly-polly
quivers
on cool cement
spattered with summer rain…
Tears emerge,
I am held back,
blocked by my hesitation,
my repulsion
and fear
of lice and fleas
of dirt and disease
while
spontaneity dies
in your puzzled
look,
head cocked
waiting and waiting
then turning
and wandering away…
a puppy no longer…
©Lea Goode-Harris, Ph.D.
August
12, 2003