The King of the Werewolves
Contemplates the Lunar Eclipse
Dark fingers wrap around the scudding clouds
Squeezing the blood till it drips from the edges.
Shadows dance alone, naked in the midnight breeze,
Evoking my name, calling me in crimson cadence.
I well up, I ripple, a synergy of fur and gristle.
My coat glistens, reflecting my anguish across the sky,
And the solitary watcher pauses as in second thought,
Reconsiders then loosens his grip upon the stars.
The clockwork gears turn in anticipation
As I reach the wind-swept moor, senses honed,
Cast a bleeding eye upward, inhale sharply
Then howl my allegiance to the dark presence
Crawling slowly across the face of the moon
Covering the bright expanses like a lover
Inching across the marriage bed, closing to his bride.
Faster and faster the purple shadow grows.
Drawn by the silent sound that interrupts their dreams,
My brothers and sisters, faces lifted, red eyes ablaze,
Skitter to the edge of the heath, shaggy chorus joined;
Howling discordant voices, lost in ecstatic abandon.
At last the lovers separate, the sepia spaces open
Between them, a bridal chamber bathed in moon glow,
Golden candles flickering against the universe,
The silicon bed forlorn, the silver sheets stained red
From the blood eyes of a thousand distant witnesses
Whose dead, clear faces are slowly lowered to earth.
Voices stilled, the multitudes fade back into the forest.
I, who dance with shadows, am assumed into darkness
And only the watcher remains.