Meanwhile Upstairs

A 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.

Litoral Norte

Copyright © 1997
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