12.19
on quiet streets of this city
gray concrete beneath shapeless snow
my dog leads me down her
self-determined path an ink stain
of fur a smile warm and slobbery
giving birth to clouds
that pass into an invisible world
as she takes another panting breath
in a city that has everything
there are many things I can’t see
the sun for one
the sun behind clouds the color
of sidewalk which lies beneath
the snow and beneath that
sparks dance around steel
wheels of subway trains
like synapses firing
in dark crevices of a brain
which I’ve never seen
but read about in a book
wedged away in library stacks
no one uses since Wikipedia
and I look up at mirrored buildings which
change color with the night and day
which reflect perfectly
what happens over our
heads concealing what
happens inside
and strangers stop to compliment my dog
and ask her name and avoid mine
and they smile and put arms around
each other and form small o’s with their mouths
because the light that hangs in her
eyes like a bulb in a dark room
is the light we all stare at
uncertain whether it even exists