Meanwhile UpstairsA dog in another apartment is crying, like an old gate closing slowly, it's been closing for centuries. Is there some moon I can't see? Things break down, go unfed. Chemicals we can't see move in the air, make me paw at the door when nothing is there. Wolves crowd an open hilltop, shaggy and white under the moon. They crowd and look up and do not cry. |
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