the wolves call like hungry cats calling on the stairwell back home,
and i tremble in the night with my blankets wrapped around my frozen legs.
tonight is a night for letting go of the past,
but i can never forget the sounds of her broken-heart,
and the images of the mind that she lost to the twilight-sky.
tonight is a night for remembering the golden words spoken,
but my memory is bronze and i can't hear the sound of her songs in my mind -
only wolves and a breaking heart that beat out the rhythm of her love for me,
ever-slowing sounds like petals of a rose wilting by the window.