On a high ridge
In the depth of night
The she-wolf gazes at the sky
And delicately lifts her muzzle moonward
Letting slip the cry of her soul.
In the distance
She sees his shape wandering
Still searching unrelentingly
But blindly even as the light breaks
And hidden terrain becomes visible.
She watches over his trail
Slipping about like a windblown leaf
Offering warmth and loyalty when needed
Crowding not his journey
With what he doesn’t want to see.
On her high ridge in the darkness
Warding, watching, wanting
Looking, listening, loving
Her muzzle lifts moonward
As she sings her soul and heart into the night.
8 November 2002 shadowwv

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