When the spring tides dance
under the light of a new moon,
I bark with the hunger of wild dogs
so I'm thrown to the wolves
of deep dark woods.
Nighthaunts sail on the breeze
of mania,
a trickle of blood
teases the trail of wet noses
'til I'm made mate
or maul
or timid maid again,
stripped and held upright by teeth like daggers
'til my tongue's made soft as
sheath.
I cover myself in dirt
so a man would return to me
as he does to the earth,
seduced by the scent of home.
When I again emerge
bearing nothing but throat,
it is he who leads me toward
delicate sun.
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