Across the street the pitbull
glowers in dew.  Jowls
quiver drool stretching

hot icicles which never
reach the ground.
Everything wonderful

and worthy of lust exists
just outside the invisible  
fence.  To feel this

we need only try on
the leather collar
and bolt in any direction.

We learn by going.
And then not going anymore.
A squirrel

works out the riddle of wires
which connects this house
to that one, leaps

for the ethereal oak tree,
flails into grass and dirt.
Jaws snap shut

on air.  A wisp
flits into the next yard.
The sad monster

edges out, presses his nose
closer to what’s there
and not, which are the same.