The dog whimpers when he sees
another dog. He so wants to connect
to sniff, nose to nose, to raise a leg
and leave his scent
in the magic tradition of his kind.
I just long from afar. Keening inside
not daring to raise my head lest
my heart show, and then I be found out
Perhaps I could leave a scent
but would anyone know how to decode it
The magic of my kind is to hide our
lights. Lest others know of our heart’s
desires, and by them gain power over
us. We’d rather starve than let them know.