3.28

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.

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