The dog has to ****.
The whole city sleeps.
The dog won't go more than five feet
from me.
I walk five feet from a bush, listening
as the buildings slowly inhale, pause,
and let out a restful breeze.
He sniffs the bush, apparently unaware
of the cold.
I look up, naked branches catching
my eyes and the breeze. They shiver
as white flakes of heavens tears
fall softly all around. The dog finishes
his business, then comes for some
attention. The city still sleeps,
time stands still, and we go back inside.