Taylor Graham
Raising Dead Winter

Morning cold-drill
to the bone. My puppy says
“let's go!”
Before my fingers on the long-line
thaw, we're past
the soccer field. My pup is
fueled up, flying! Pulling me along,
up the shortcut into woods,
we hit the dirt-bike trail
(47 humps & dips in a hundred yards).
She won't break stride
except to nudge a bedroll stashed
behind a tree — fresh human
scent! Up to the rodeo grounds,
around the horse arena —
if I could bottle this lightning
puppy heartbeat;
if I could sell it, I'd be rich.
The little zoo; three wolves watching
us through fence; my pup
doesn't flinch, she's wild &
focused, she's on-trail.
A peacock plumes its iridescent
eyes. We keep on running.
And here's our quarry, Kim, sitting
on a bench. I'm out of
breath but energized, revived -
as good as rich.
The sun's gold coin shines
tiny, high and cold.