I saw a skateboarder on a flat street

                           

I saw a skateboarder on a flat street. I heard my dog on the kitchen floor. 

They were waiting for the pasta to come to a boil, the street to change its slant. Yet they were still, wishing for a thing to be true, they couldn't make true. I could hear my dog, desiring in some despair. I could not hear this in the skateboarder, nor could I tell which element were missing, if that was what I could not hear.