Once was a dog there. He was.
Oh he grinned. Happy dog.
But he knew
something commanded.
Once a moon there is,
it attracts water.
He lolled away from it.
In his madness,
he came to loathe the sea
and what it contained.
It is easy to see how
he shied from that huge stomach
and the slow bloat of its crest
during night. The dog had no name
and he roamed across the land like a whitecap
leaving prints that would fade in slowmelt
trailing behind him—the signature
of a wraith, erased by dawn's arrival.
No one knew where he came from
or what he was doing
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