A dog barked at a distance,
a door creaked on its hinges,
the moon pretended it didn’t notice anything.
The lumberjack killed his dog with his axe
painted his cheeks with the blood and
looked at his reflection in the dark river.
That was the dog that barked.
This was what the moon meant.
Then the axe, like a golden bird, was raised in the air.
A laughter was heard in the forest.
I did it on time, the lumberjack said. He didn’t take
my friend, my dog from me; the lumberjack started