That wolf on your calf was winking at me

and when the full moon showed up
he slipped off your leg and started following me
down the dark alley of dreams
lit up like a ballroom with star chandeliers
past all the closed doors leading to wishes
barred with all sorts of locks
past the dust bins and sewer grates
to my favorite fire escape.
He followed me up it
disturbing the flocks
of pigeons (thoughts unrealized).
He was silent as shadow
walked on feet padded for flight
so he easily met me
on the rooftop
where he bayed at the moon
and then to my surprise
set velvet pawed foot
to the old fashioned ship of the moon
and took to the skies
with me on his back
like he was some sort of wolf/horse
meant as my steed. — Annette Marie Smith

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It’s the full Cold Moon tonight

She is fat with the satisfaction of her cold light.
She is fecund with frosty happiness.
The clouds are slips of lace, mere lingerie,
and the night watches transfixed as she lets them drift away.
She pulls the night in closer,
as if he is the tide at her command.
And in a way he is, this lover of hers
who is always with her —
and stirs her darker side.
The moan that she rouses in him
is the true origin
of the first wolf’s howl
and in this way too they are always paired.
Longing made manifest
in the soul song of one of earth’s best creatures
is their gift to each other–
that and their child
that they both dote on
known as Lunacy.
The light and the dark and the passion make
a beautiful sorcery.
— Annette Marie Hyder