With his fingers he is drumming on the table
whirling the dog’s hair with his fingers
like a frightened schoolboy with his curls
Shame restrains the craft of an animalist’s
fear that voiceless clay will not bark.
He is opening the window in the hope that
rigid frozen branches would tell him
from where comes that windless rippling
the flying of the dog’s hair
white eyeballs in flames.
He locked the door and growled
at all his and others’ expectations