Every night, I turn into a wolf’s mistress. On our paws, we pounce together into a meadow. Gorging on rain-stained grass, we howl at those who call us mad. We howl for them.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
Every night, I turn into a wolf’s mistress. On our paws, we pounce together into a meadow. Gorging on rain-stained grass, we howl at those who call us mad. We howl for them.