Wag

Her tail can be disruptive as the surf,
inscribing in the air a hemi-dome,
for when my dog is first released on turf,
her nether end darts like a metronome.
Her ecstasy’s reflected in the move,
like counterpoint to action of her nose,
which sweeps the ground for smells and balls and dew,
while off her coat the lambent sunrise glows.

I recollect a novelty of old:
a duck that pitched its nose into a cup
and sent its other end, wood feathers bold,
reacting derrick-fashion, sailing up.
Now I’d construct a seesaw lateral:
a seeking snout against that wagging pull.

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