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The dogs don't howl.In the dark kitchen we make cups of teaAnd our hollow stares shift from our hands to the floorThe dogs don't howlThough somehow we feel they shouldWe have nothing to sayHappiness would be unfeelingMourning is tabooIt was like this last weekToo
ListeningMy father is in the kitchenFinishing his supperMy sister is in her bedroomCrying about deathAnd I am standing in the unlit hallwayListening