Today’s gone to the dogs. The cats have thoughts too, though are less willing to share. This downslope slide into midnight it’s not the rhythm that gets thrown off so much as old programming. Habits of previous lives. A body regenerates new cells every 7 years or so or so I’m told. Coming up on 5 years sober just past 7 years out of the classroom and I am growing scales I am growing fins I am growing. Cicadas and crickets and prey mantises find me call me Fellow. Possums and wharf rats they join the birds. My eyes follow the night hawk under a the sharp edge of a late August moon. But for now the dogs just want to know they’re loved and care little if it is by a monster.