In your tongue ‘D O G’ means something else, no wagging tail, no barking, wetting your carpet, and if I spell those letters, nothing even close to four legs. It means something else, something like- ‘Please, give me.’
What can I give you? Friendship? Loyalty? Guide you if you have two dark holes for your eyes and hold a white stick in your moist hand, and the street runs a nowhere ceaselessness?
You do not even comprehend what Jack London meant in his inks.
Then I ask you if I may have a Coke, and you open your lightless refrigerator, produce a bottle murmuring something about something, and by the warmth of my drink I gather it is about the power supply or that you opened your store only minutes ago.
A dog barks from the shade of a solitary mango tree. I know not its icon, index and symbol. I know not its semiotics.
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