under a wolf's moon
all the debt that you incur
under a wolf's moon
where the air eats at his fur

his expiry
like lily and ragweed

how much more effective death seems,
in the dark

where there goes a howling
comes more, goes two, goes three -

and even sleep is a poor divider;
a straw between the fire and he

I watch,
and my heart goes, so unfettered
so that even homer nods
clinging to red-letters
with my last little finger
'til he's gone