Beneath a sharp sun
where the blue cloth of summer next-by is waiting
for the cotton clouds of heat-washing
gems, the diamond drops which never come
there stiffly hobbles a cocoa-man and attendant dog at leash straining
not for an appointed place requiring timing
nor a needed break
for creature comfort silently pleaded.
No, neither has a given destination or agendas,
(and one needs the other for unclear reasons),
but for the simple pleasure of turns about a park
to scent out smells or wave to others of their kind, or bark;
for it is the urge one has to feel like a dog
and for the other it is to become a little again a human.

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