My dog ran away last summer
from a pair of dogcatchers.
They chased him down an alleyway,
and out into the streets.

Picking his way through the packed-tight asphalt
he made his escape.

My dog ran away last summer
and at night,
if I listen closely,
with some shamrock's luck
I hear him howl.

My dog ran away,
from fate,
from capture,
from an ever-close cage.