Psychotic dogs bark at cold winter stars,
chips of dead ice on the black painted canvas
of night. They sense the distance. The distance
between them and all other matter, the enormous
space between all living things: atoms, planets,
people, mountains, worms, moles, birds, gods, angels,
unspeakable stars burning in unknowable galaxies.
I hear the punition of bliss in endless, mindless meridian.