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.