I have learned to listen to invisible dogs

Howling at two in the morning.

This indecent hour when even lovers

Disentangle them after romping

On rumpled sheets, succumbing

To sleep. Relentless, they serenade me.

Every night, shaking their chains

And whimpering in hunger.

Years ago, I would have appointed

At the Swiss-cheese moon, but I know better now.

They are panting after another taste, moaning across high

Fences and gates to each other –

their tamed furs needing something more than human touch.

Unleashed, they would stalk these urban streets,

Sniff the air in their dogged search for the most

Drool worthy, chase after the pooch they’d most want

To paw, nuzzle, and roll around with on a neighbor’s

Lawn, in garages, under streetlamps, behind bushes,

On the sidewalk – dogs aren’t picky and always

Love an audience, even at two in the morning.

Maybe they can smell me from here.

Or maybe not. They’re still howling. I want to  yell at the time

Inane canines:

Even if I cried out and wailed at someone lying on the

Other side of this city, the sounds would fail to fetch him.

He’d probably beg me to shut up, then roll over on his side

Of the bed. So stop you howling and let me sleep. I’m playing dead.