What I wish is
to run like this,
like him, full-bore,
with abandon,
run and run and run, race about,
dart, leap, jump, on a tear, on a spree,
romp, madcap, tumble, and bounce,
ears flapping, if I had dangling ears,
tail swooshing, if I had a swooshy tail, and bound
over tall grass, if I could run on all-fours,
bound through snowy fields, if I could find deep, soft snow,
even crash through crashing salty waves–
and also,
stop, full:
devote fully
–to scent, if had a brilliant nose,
or to stalking a mole,
if I found moles delicious.
Unlike our sedate
human linear increments,
his follow his nose,
take a dog leg,
loop–intention
and abandon
taking turns–track vermin,
snuffle for drops
of sweat, of saliva, of molecules of
other animals that ran
and stopped and shed and
smelled and hunted.
I long for his freedom of frolic,
and his attentiveness, long
to be let off a leash, or at least,
to release the dog
and see him run
because dogs run
in jazz.
