Wolf

A simple poem about loss of self or love, however you want to interpret it

She says my fingernails are tiny.
Either I have bitten them to the quick
from trembling, a bloody mess,
or I have the hands of a child.
She kisses them anyway.

On eve, we walk on the shore of footprints,
white foam licking our toes.
Our breath turns to fog and clouds the sea.
A couple more breaths and
we won't see our reflection at all.

Between the mountains
the path fades to a tunnel.
Our heels gather moss from running
and then she stops
to close her hands tight around mine.

She left me then, among some sunflowers.
The earthy shadows
had painted the petals black
and mimicked my sorrow of her freedom.

Have you seen her?
She has pink paws of a tigress
and yellow sunflowers in her mane.
Have you seen the night wolf?
They've unchained her muzzle and body,
now she hunts alone in magic shadows
and speaks to me where fireflies melt in pools of the sky.