“The blue colour wasn’t easy to remove. The night came - colour killer –“ ~ Nina Cassian, Vacation Later, I would carry rope in case a ranger chased us But then I would clap and yell “Go home, Get” and she would slink behind a bush or letterbox, wait. Cattle dog cross, an ex lover’s, not mine “There’s a dog following you” people would stop me and I’d turn to nothing but she was there Dogs are known to sense ambush hours or months ahead She had scented survivor’s bones still in my stalked body, my wounds trailing like raw meat behind me Later, we would run together our pack formed the night I had stopped sensing malice, emptied and goodbyed as the street of warehouses they thought I was cornered in, where she invisibly padded shadow through squares of black and grey, unseen as I declined a ride from the voice in the darkened car. She must have seen it roll forward, flared as brake lights red eyed the night. Fast as the back door cracked open she slammed and thrashed hard against metal her frenzied shrieks prehistoric and terrifying, immense wreckage of the predator’s made mind and the car was gone. She and I sprinted, wilder and darker away from the road, through trees home. My eternal and irretrievable saviour, memory of fierce white teeth against the amnesiac dark shuddered and broken, again and again. I wish she had got hold of his throat.