The Dog Park

I've never felt the need to write poetry about my dogs
Never thought I could capture the will-o-wisps on paper
Or paint the long lines of graceful muzzles in words
The light trot of their tiny, fragile feet
Passing easily over what would cut my soles
The playful puff of curled tails shimmying in the breeze
Black nose, deep eyes, and a warm pink tongue
That only comes out on the left because he's missing teeth
Or her butterfly wing ears perched on her crown
That will never carry her away because one flops over
I never thought to put these small joys down
Or laude soft midnight snores and twitching legs
And white bellies revealed for rubbing
But now we're at the dog park and as they frolic I feel like the dirt
Messy and exposed from so many pounding paws
Sloppy and punished from the recent rain
And generally a little gross from just being dirt
Yet still holding onto green patches of grass
Even some beds of clover just blooming in white tufts
And supporting little furry pups as they stroll over
To just check in, say hi, get a few pets
Before sniffing their way back into the fray