Does the kept dog howl at the moon, or does the stray? I am astray from you, and my moon is bluegreen and shines like forgiveness when you smile. The vagrant hound remembers when he was a wolf; I remember when I wasn’t. Like him, I eat and sleep and **** beneath even my own notice. Like him, I remember every night of comfort and every kick, and am confused when I find both in the same doorway. I wasn’t a cur until you called me one – does that count? When the rains come, I think of your soft golden warmth, these mongrel legs start to pull me back – don’t let me in unless you mean to keep me – and my howl is sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry and I don’t know which of us I hate.