BY KARIN ANDERSEN
The evening street is empty
the weekend’s visitors have left
taken the cold with them.
I take off my hat and gloves
above me the Milky Way is pale confetti
I pass a house whose window glows yellow
with candlelight.
The only sound is my steps,
then from the shadows
across the street
a black dog appears
also alone,
but he is going home
AERODROME 