My heart enters the body of a wolf,
Every night when the sun goes down.
My heart beats in his stong body
As he moves in a blanket of darkness.
Strength flows down into his legs
And into the hard, cold, ground.
The earth is pungent with the smell
Of pine needles and dead crumbled leaves.
The sounds of the early night mask
The rough pads of his feet.
His ears hear the twittering of birds
And the call of a great horned owl.
The dove’s mournful song fades in the dark.
The wolf stands silent and alert.
His nostrils quiver under the rising moon.
His strong neck arches gracefully.
He sends forth such a wild sound,
A howl that seems to come up
From the center of the earth
And flow through his sturdy legs
Until it enters the wolf’s soul.
The sound pours from his mouth
To call others of his own kind.
He seeks not to isolate, or be alone.
Rather he yearns to run with the pack,
To become part of a unified whole.
Even wild wolves in difficult times
Seek to establish a pack and
Need the comfort of companionship.