Golden Retrievals by Mark Doty (a poem)

Fetch?  Balls and sticks capture my attention seconds at a time.
Catch?  I don't think so.
Bunny.  Tumbling leaf. A squirrel who is , oh joy, actually scared.
Sniff the wind, then I'm off again.
Muck. Pond. Ditch. Residue of any thrillingly dead thing.

And you?  Either you're sunk in the past half our walk,
Thinking of what you never can bring back,
Or else you're off in some fog concerning... tomorrow.
Is that what you call it?

My work?  To unsnare time's warp and woof.
Retrieving, my haze-headed friend, you.
The shining bark, a zen master's bronzy gong,
Calls you here.  Entirely.  Now.


Bow wow.
Bow wow.
Bow wow.