it is twilight when the wolf appears at the edge of woods limning the overgrown meadow

charcoal gray dense fur almost masks the face

to stare at her will make you her enemy so search for the dog star dippers big and little find the burgeoning moon reveal silver wild oat

her breath becomes apparent in the autumn air; her odor pervades all other senses

only then will you be seduced by her lipsí delicate tingle, the frailty of her naive eyes fondle your forehead

when white stars emerge you might wish she would howl to convene her whole pack so you could have them all

but her malleable tongue strokes your neck in that moment when she takes your head into her completely open jaws

tenderly, as a baby reaches up to your face to adopt you with both arms, you then know primal love

with her there is no all or nothing you are hers

© Diane Stevenson Schmolka 3rd draft: Nov.3, 2006

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