As his gaze falls on the river, on the brackish reflection of the sky,
his ears perk up and the swan song of the howl to the moon
overwhelms the waning light.
As though a lamenting woman embraces her loneliness,
the melody of fervent nature seeps into his every
Vision, crystal behind golden glowing eyes reflecting
a silver lined moon…
and he catches her scent swirling through the hills.
Ferociously, he kicks off.
In a whirlwind of murky water and raining pebbles,
he flew across the land, as though the ground
beneath his paws fell away.
Her howling deepens.
And the high moon
resting in its’ nest of solitude seems to
vibrate and glow.
Her song caresses the windstorm of falling skies,
collecting the births of creation,
as though every crying cub need never worry,
and every lonely wolf never fear to fight its’ last fight.