We have a dog called Como. Sometimes
the hot water works and the bathroom steams
in the mornings; often not. There is always
hair in the plughole. The space between
front door and front gate is covered
by a brownness of used-to-be leaves
frozen into a range of toe-stubbing
little mountains. One of us will retrieve
the old ground in the spring, probably.
Como sleeps between us on the coldest
nights. The way we are is dangerously
safe, like heavy drinking or incest.
Everey night before bed one of us calls
the dog. If he doesn't come we fuck. Day falls.
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