Wolf Moon

from Fragments of Light

The moon howls its rings
as it tracks the trees, stalks
bare branches of red
maples, chasing scarecrow
shadows across the yard.

Leaves crunch underfoot
as I trek to the lake. Brief barks
from the other side, then silence.

The overturned skiff trembles
like an exposed rabbit
on the shore, gray timber nuzzling
sand, water snapping wood.
Light scatters darkness,

keen for the hunt.

 London on a January night. Wolf Moon waxing.

London on a January night. Wolf Moon waxing.