shhh
hand to mouth
breathe only through slitted fingers
and do not move a muscle
staring out through the bushes
to watch the silhouette
on four legs
swaying like a drunken man
head thrown back in what could
either be ecstasy or sadness
a longing for what once was
but even those thoughts are drowned out
by the snarling and sharp teeth
and the fur that hangs in strips
off thin frames
and ribs like claws
and the loud sound
of the wolf baying at the moon
begging la luna to come down
from the sky and shine her light
onto the blood on pure white snow
because all that the wolf
knows is that she
moon mother
controller of the tides
is too far away to touch
and she cannot hear his cries