Dog The fantailcd dog of the end, the lights out, Lopes in his sleep, The moon's moan in the glassyfields. Everything comes to him, stone Pad prints extending like stars, tongue black As a flag, saliva and thread, the needle's tooth, Everything comes to him. If I were a wind, which I am, if I Were smoke, which I am, if I Were the colorless leaves, the invisible grief, Which I am, which I am, He'd whistle me down, and down, but not vet. 115 ...