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Outside the hotel,
Sat a man,
Sign in hand
Declaring his hunger,
His poverty,
His need.

Beside him
Sat his dog,
A beautiful specimen
Of a dog.
Not arrogant,
Not childish,
Not untrained.

There they sat.
Not a word
Passed his lips,
But he spoke,
Perhaps a language
Taught to him
By his dog.

A language
That had no syllables,
Verbs, nouns,
Supjects, object.
Nothing that could be
Found in any vocabulary
Far and/or wide.

The language
Spoken with the eyes
To anyone who looked his way.

Yet somehow
It garnered compassion.
Maybe it made him
More human,
Maybe it made him
Less human.
But every now and then,
Someone would reach for change
Maybe forgotten in a pocket
To present to him.

His gratitude,
Neither overzealous,
Nor underzealous,
Just enough
To put a skip in one's step,
A soft spot in one's heart,
Which reminds one
What it feels like
To be human.