The Stranger

the dogs pace in their cages and bark a frantic warning at any approaching footstep or knock at the door. but if they freeze to attention as if afraid to be detected, then I heed their judgment- the stranger is near. the streetlights in my eyes flicker off where he passes. and the rivers in my veins hush their babbling. my lungs fill like balloons, for the air forgets to move. and the rain in my head turns to silent, dry ashes. if I've ever met the stranger, I can't recall his visits. only how the world returns the moment he departs. the dogs shirk their duty, and shrink into the corner of my ribcage, exposing a new impression where he tread.