Once our hounds join in packs
and trembling, with dark doggedness, yield
to the laws of the Eternal Escape
coming to a halt only seldom
breathing in the thousands of smells
catching with their erect ears the wind’s howling improvisations
exchanging their glowing looks and starting again
Perhaps then it will be worth it, in the unbroken silence
of the insured flats, to read the yellowed letters
Once the ridiculously ancient habits of our hounds melt
into the alert collective instinct
and the faraway places fuse into a piercing track
of thousands of isolated loners
Perhaps then it will be worth it to tear the old sheets
and, in the rain of falling shreds, to decipher new salutations
Once the hounds appear within sight of our panel towns
and, with their enigmatic, poised calm, lie down in expectation
at times giving a wild bark just for the echo’s sake
Perhaps then it will be worth it
to walk out onto the balconies
and see that they see