when one dog barks, they all do. I hardly recognized my neighbor in a mask, but she knew me in line at the grocery store. her name rhymes with mine. she sits with a six pack on the tilted bench outside my apartment— the same spot where a young girl texts the person she likes. I can tell she does by the way she smiles and looks around like some one caught her stealing. this is the same spot where a woman rocks an infant to the sound of leaves singing in wind, where everyone stuffs ducks with bread, which also make house visits now, and apparently they prefer full loaves to breadcrumbs. Bless what's left of this weather, we all seem to agree and stoop over our porches in our pajamas.