Wolf moon
Do I know the moon is full by the crackle of her milky white electricity,
night shadows by my bins,
the urge to pause and gaze up?
Or because Facebook tells me I could join the forest women for a healing circle dance,
the midnight swimmers for a shiver?
Is it a restless energy calling me to action –
an edgy do or die?
Or the audacious candela sneaking past the blackout blinds
and nudging me into anxiety?
Then I hear it, the howling –
a fox, or a dog, or a baritone cat –
proclaiming in the startling bright.
