Golden Dog / by Stillwater Magazine

by Sawyer Hitchcock

 

I was running —

Eyes open and large to the slanting sun enchanting the blueness and the green.

(it was only an hour ago!)

 

I was running and feeling the soles

Of my feet rebounding elastic against the street: the hard hard concrete.

 

Smooth and whole, strong, complete: a rhythm, strong along the street.

 

And there on a driveway: a golden dog!

An old dog he seems, and so golden!

Long long drifts of yellow hair sift soft waves along his strong back.

 

He sits upright —

But so loose! and dangling pink tongue all aslack in panting wag. . .

Grand and aloof: a yellow mass relaxed,

Spilling on sure haunches like a golden puddle.

 

Such a heavy beast: panting and surveying: sagging and still: still, at his ease.

 

I was running and I saw him! —

He turned to watch me as I passed, panting.

He only moved his yellow head.