Twilight.
A felt hesitation
as the sun pauses
uncertainly, soaking
the sky in an eerie
blue-green hue.
A silence,
even while the city
breathes and pulses.
A moment of
stillness and
hope and
desire,
gone, even before
it is fully formed.
Le temps de loup.
The hour of the
wolf, shouting his
pitiful, sorrowful cry,
calling the shy moon,
breaking the silence.
The frozen moment
is over.
Daytime hides from
the wolf with the
amber eyes.
Dark...
Dark...
Dark...
Until dawn.
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