How I know this is love

You call me at ten fourteen p.m. You are
walking the dog. I think: he has been
kidnapped or shot or just had a heart attack.
Or maybe it is aliens or wild dogs. Someone is
dead or he lost his shoe in a sink hole
down the street. The dog is rabid. Or maybe
the dog is the dead one. I whisper breathless.
What is wrong, are you okay. You laugh. 
Everything is fine. Come outside. I take my heart
out of my throat, put it back somewhere near
my lungs. I breathe. Walk out the door.
You are standing on the lawn holding
a bag of shit and the dog leash. You say
look, look at the moon. And I do.