by Camilla Jean Welsch
I called out to the man approaching:
“Is that Ghost?”
He crossed the street now with his white Husky dog
(for my Malamute was bigger),
and removed an earbud,
leaning into my direction.
I called out again:
“Is your dog Ghost?”
“Spirit,” he said.
“Ohh… Spirit!” I said.
The dog was white even in the hazy night light.
Then I told the man it was nice to see him,
and his hard front cracked.
And me, he replied back.
My dog looked on, but said and motioned nothing to me,
yet put his nose near the green grass ground,
his neck stretched down, long and powerful,
his eyes still on the white dog.
He paused, and looked away now,
taking a few soft steps
with large, cushioned paws.
No longer in competition,
they simply ran on opposite sides,
in opposite directions,
as it had been decided.
Just two cool sled dogs,
passing in the summer night.