not one
of the moon's mystic seas is filled
with their yelping
though those
haunting harmonies save me from solitude
on the naked prairies
the sky, cold, awash
with wispy clouds, carries their sour song,
a dirge no creatures emulate
like they, I howl at the proud wolf moon;
it ignores me as it does them, but ‘tis regally round
for only a blink in time, then mournful
as it wanes to penumbra
in earth’s shadow
the wild dogs and I
cease our serenade, but wait in darkness
to cast another refrain when the ornery orb again
filches the dying sun’s light