there was Bella when I settled in to morning runs
dark week day mornings
when I considered the houses where I knew someone
just in case
weekends brought us trail runs
longer, not so early as to beat the light
we ran not quite in stride
her free movement and head turning back to see me
me picking through a stone strewn trail
many days, many trails
now mornings are spent walking three dogs
running is no one’s game
we walk
on good days the three leashes spread out
like bamboo blades in a paper fan
other mornings three dogs move in three
directions and at three paces
I’m thankful to stay on my feet
none of us run together
Jack sets out into the woods
before his body reminds him
Godot still lithe though a little lame
in the hips, Stanley gets distracted til
he notices we’re far down the trail
and he bounds towards us ears bounce
on either side of his head
and I think about Umberto Boccioni”s
Unique Forms of Continuity in Space
a string of days 