I do not have that little dog. That like a ghost runs round the moon. And through the sun whose song is light. To bring me bones from the sky’s heart. We do not frolic in the field, nor dare we make the flame. I do not have that little dog, whose missions are the structure. We do not understand the world, together, or apart. But in between the night and day, between the dream and waking, the dog and I become the way in light that life is making.