Conversation with a wolf

His silver fur shines in moonlight. My armor

weak and pallid, offers no more resistance

than a thatch of decayed, gray coconut leaves

to a crumbling mud hut.

With golden shine in his eyes

he looks at me, and I at him with my

nervous gaze.

Can he see my sins? I hope not.

My hands red with blood of the past

guilts of the present, and

deeds of future.

Do I see a smirk in his face? His white teeth shining?

Does he read my mind?

The kiss of air slowly undulates my hair.

There’s madness in his eyes

as he reads my darkness

with his golden, shimmering


I see the wolf in me, his voice gruff,

his teeth bare, his furs white

his paws red.


Who’s that he holds in his grips?

Who’s that he tears flesh

from? Lying motionless, in a mass of

black liquid.

Is that



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