Oh, Wolf

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