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Poem	one morning the bone was there set in the centre of waste ground against the early morning sun the frost along its concave rim sparkled - raised a hundredfold the price a passing dog would place on it but the dogs who came (barking amongst themselves about the food shining at them across the rubbled soil) somehow couldn't find it in their legs to fetch the bone - its glowing had a phosphorescent feel a beauty that repelled the simple possibilities of eating so it went on all day the bone stayed cold - the frost around it sparkled and the dogs came and went returning then with other dogs the concourse disturbed the neighbourhood with excitement and unease when the night came there was no moon no light to catch the frost dogs began to venture through the rubble advancing then retreating turning round again one dog - a mongrel (say) suddenly barked (the first dog-talk for hours thinking this is a stupid game - it's a bone and dogs eat bones and before all the other dogs could swallow half their fear it rushed the bone a rubber tasteless bone rotten and ancient any ordinary backyard bone would have given a greater satisfaction for doing what it did the mongrel (say) was driven from the district
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