I can no longer see anything
in the sky but a large white dog
devouring the moon.
This dog is not a cloud.
If it doesn’t belong to anyone it will leave.
And day will return.
But what if this dog belongs to
that man who leans on the
mountain in order to watch and
mock us?
The moon pauses; night lingers.
We are on the verge
of going another round.
