I thought he had a dog but
he didn’t.
The way he walked, stopped and the tilt of his head
said it,
yet no dog emerged.
His hand held most still, outstretched to where
his fingers formed an “o”
in the cold air.
He didn’t hold a leash
but held instead the idea.
It was past the time
for sun dried noodles
and he could never recreate
with his machines,
the specific taste
of the noodle in the sun.
And walking his dog on the leash,
that was over too.