Wolves
Dry, bluish-pale snowlamenting
under the soles of my shoes
echoing the night
from the moonwhite tennis court
A car
curiously silent
crossing the railroad
Its exhaust fumes
a greyhound running behind
All along the dark horizon
the northern light's flowing gown
sweeping soundlessly over the trees
From behind their fences
the wolves are howling
desolately
Poetry by fazza
Read 1287 times
Written on 2005-05-26 at 01:04
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