I want to suggest something very unorthodox. Take the whole part about the dog and convert it to a prose poem within a poem. This has been done before. The top and bottom of your poem reads like a poem, the middle section, as below, reads like a prose:

"Then I nearly lost my dog. She swam to the furthest corner of the lake, chasing a bird. I was calling her but she was like a Japanese warrior on a one-way mission. Deaf and determined
she finally turned around when she was so far that she looked like a black dot closer to the other side on the shore. She did not even look tired. What a strong dog!

Anyway that incident went smoother than I initially would have thought. When she made it back
we started running really fast: crazy woman and a soaking wet dog. It was a slightly shocking
experience for a passing by grandma, but her children told her that they know us and we are friendly..." (then follow with poem:)

what else did I do today?
I saw a mysterious hollow
a couple of branches
looking like gates to another world
I cooked Singapore style noodles...

this and the rest reads, feels like a poem. Valery once said prose walks from one place to another- it has destination. It is a story. Poetry dances in place. It is ok to join them when that's what it calls for. You do a good job of leading the reader in with the great metal fence image being used in your resolution to find beauty everywhere. You do a good job in the end with a funny irony which expands with poetic meaning.
I hope you consider this, but of course, it is your work and I'm only making a suggestion .
.

this site does not show the comments as they are written in the comment box until posted. The prose I am offering is supposed to be together, in sentences, as a paragraph, in regular prose form.

shall read you tomorrow
I may say
would have read tonight
but the length of your poems
cannot stay within my
short sight

you've grabbed her bag, now run with it...

enjoyed

g

=

You have a freshess and style of your own so from my viewpoint I would not change a thing. Here's an offer I don't make every day. If you ever feel like trying your hand at rhyme, or god forbid, a sonnet, give me a private message and we'll see what we can sort out. All credit to you of course.

Neater Meter, Almost a Sonnet

I hope someday to write a perfect sonnet
instead of this absurd excuse for meter,
with gentle touch of elegance upon it
and not insipid rhymes as brain cells peter.
Another time I’ll switch on my computer
then type away to keyboard’s friendly clicks,
I’ll finish with a flourish, a sharpshooter,
no longer this dispenser of old tricks.

But maybe I am still a hapless dreamer
whose trite expressions drone to no effect,
a man without a muse, a hopeless schemer,
still not an ounce of talent to detect.

When scansion throughout does not read well;
pray God, grant freedom from iambic hell.

The Diet

My wife is on a diet, so am I,
her will prevails in setting what we do;
no more to breakfast on a tasty fry
nor lunch of prime Scotch mince or Irish stew.
She loves her cherry cake, but it’s now gone
and with it all the sweetmeats from the house;
the limits of what’s wholesome have been drawn,
I think that she mistakes me for a mouse.

If I could find the will or knew the way
to help provide new balance to her schemes,
although I sometimes think of what I’d say
there’s nothing I would do to end her dreams.

She doesn’t seem to count those chocolate snacks,
but I don’t care what label’s on her slacks.

Dragons Breath

Once upon a time a dragon wept;
fair maidens never seemed to understand
why elder set appointments went unkept
(his fervent wish, let sacrifice be banned).
The errant knights who wandered on strange quests
amused him with their pennant, shield and lance,
one hiccup as his hurried lunch digests
would have Sir hot-foot skip a comic dance.

No entertaining tin-can with a spear
could woo him from a woeful want of sleep
as villagers' vile stories cut too deep,
at length he sadly quit this sordid sphere.

Then: heroes battled monsters to the death.
Now: faded fairy tales of dragons’ breath.

I'm glad I read it. Both the poem and his feedback.
The poem feels like a personal gift.

Love the beauty combined with an almost sardonic drawl-
so I photographed them
and dismissed the question

and the justaposition creating ostranenie of-
looking like gates to another world
I cooked Singapore style noodles

For a male Aussie take on it-
https://vocaroo.com/i/s03UnyDauCxQ

and some slight niggles-
and trying to remember what has been done
[and try to remember what was done]
I realized it was a long day [realize]

and they do not mind to grow near its regular ugliness [mind growing]

she swam to the furtherst corner of the lake [furthest]