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Poem

Never a crescent but opalescent
This globe, suspended and always present
And the Wolf cannot be flesh or bone
In this void in time's dim desert zone

The Wolf drinks water by frozen moonlight
Tween slurps She's panting with all of her might
Behind Her is cool, clear space, not a sound
Only the dream, the moon, the pond, the ground

Before Her, Her own urge to lap abounds
Wet shadow animates Her slurping sounds
As She's prowling, the dreams of human minds
Resume here, and secret voices She finds

While the Wolf lingers in psychic powers
None shall wake, but quake, for several hours
Their minds in this clearing, none can hide
Into this stretch they've strayed, some petrified

Sleeping souls, unseen, drift round Her shadow
Longing to escape to some green meadow
Gathered souls meld with Her strange oasis
Their liquid ripples squirm like their faces

In each warm, active mind synapses spark
Captives perceive images as they arc
Meanwhile, the Wolf; in spirit world She drinks
A united sea; thoughts each dreamer thinks

Her lips draw in the collective spirit
Of their curious nature; they fear it
In Her belly flows their merged collages;
Impressions of their entwined barrages

The Wolf's clear as glass, exposing patterns
In colors blazed like Neptune's, like Saturn's
From Her drinking head down to Her wagging tail
She's made of dreamers captured by sleep's spell

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