dragging the old dog
through early morning,
I notice each step shoots a tremor
through her soft hind-quarters.
there’s no return to puppy days
snapping at butterflies,
but there’s still time
to catch some wisdom
in a long-armed net,
still time to parry nettles and stings.
track the river to a pool
of follicled water.
there you will find her
spiralling indifferently,
taking daredevil inclines
like a veteran stuntwoman.
see how she glides
over present,
animating the past.
see it all again:
see it with new eyes
and a cabbage-white mind,
tensions melt,
wingbeats quiet lingering tremors
in one undivided flight,
in and out
of wild, wild grass.
Will Griffith is a poet, teacher, and jazz aficionado. His favourite past-time is learning new instruments and attempting to play the blues on them. He has work forthcoming in Amethyst Review, The Chamber Mag, and Reach Poetry (Indigo Dreams). He sends suspect verses into the twinstasphere @bunglerbill .