Five Fingers

touch the concrete,
sense the air above,
feel the rain falling on
treading padded paws.

Pad. Pad.
There the ball drops,
meets the ground,
and bounces back.
Falling, bounding,
reaching again.

Like a canon
gliding through the air,
they were opened once
and now they soar.

The plash of water,
the splash of fingers,
fast moving on feet
that know boundless joy
and lovely abandon
like never before.