Call him a dog. Call me a dog.
Dogs are loved in this city.
A glance of eyes,
a wordless understanding of wilderness.
They walk in through windows,
cross buildings leaving them through backyards.
We hide in their beds letting the
dog catchers come away empty-handed.
And indeed, in the night they must have
sung to the moon, feeling it is just the mirror
of the sun, knowing something in that relationship
Illustration by Galya Popova