Returning from the Church

An artless brown fence sits against the bland
Indiana spring, half and half, green and tan.
The black lab sprung up proud and ran
in stark, brash contrast to the gentle land.

In the breaking, this blessing, the morning sun began
to enkindle meditation and a mild appreciation
for a blessing yet to come and a strong anticipation
of a love sprung up and running throughout our age's span.

Broken but distinct, the tail light's illumination,
flushing imagination with the red of reflecting,
the dog, the brakes, a collision without detecting.
Tragic and torn; reality mocks manipulation.

Tossed against the fence, and down in imperfection,
head meekly lain on the tamest grass, hollow as sorrow.
I slowed my dreams as I passed, a pause in my tomorrow,
but swallowed hard, for upon paws, a swift resurrection,

darting back across its death, with eyes of fear now knowing;
the colliding of our lives with life, uncontrolled but never slowing.