Poem 0141: wet dog

Coming in from the rain,
My dog shakes himself in
His all-too-familiar, dog-like way.
His soaked hair flings droplets
Of the fresh-fallen moisture
Everywhere!
I imagine the thrill of being able
To shake my body incrementally,
From head to toe to tail with
Seeming ease. And as I imagine
This, I notice a shimmer run
Along my spine almost in cadence
With his shaking.

In this moment, I am the rain;
I am the spiraling propulsion;
I am glancing up with glee; and
Most of all I am the shaking, wet dog.

~ by Stan Stewart
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