in the shush of midnight,
chandra, the stray, barks impudent.
the wakeful windows hear him vex,
wishing for the dawn or the silence.
soon a light, (not of dawn), rushes to him,
and he lies down into the street’s dark ground.
the wheels and the honks, they drive elsewhere,
as silence eerie follow some loner’s death.
fortunate are the sleepers, who all but care,
that the noise of the night has gone away.
but restless are the listeners, who hear the shouts,
that their night friend leaves within them.