Let the wailing dogs lie

We wonder why the dogs have to bark at nights with mournful snouts pointing out fuzzy possibilities of other things, of pale moons hanging by trees, of wind whistling in the rush of a sleeping lizard, of a car past our lengthening shadows dragging our day times to the other spaces,the other times.

Wonder why the  dogs have to shout at our bellyaches in the wee hours, before another fine dawn breaks on our missing people as we rub our eyes at dawn.

And why we do not put up our snouts to the night before another dawn breaks ,crinkling our rheumy eyes at the incoming suns of our window.


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