When my dog and its copy appeared on the white sheet of paper
I had no doubt bent down and patted the dog’s head
watching its mirror image being erased by the cartoonist.
Towards dawn when we had to walk slowly as the artist drew the road
we walked on crossing a meadow of flowers,
it struck me that the dog I knew was less obedient often grumpy,
had treated me as an equal and not as an superior;
by that the artist began erasing the future
and I was left with a blank page with pieces of rubber on.