I can never sleep when the moon is full
Sometimes I wonder if part of me is wolf.
Maybe just a bud of wolf’s-heart that could
Flower if I let it, or maybe it’s a key in a lock
That I just need to turn to let the wolf in.
My words are the leaves the trees grow,
I need them so I can bloom.
To stop writing is to leave me lost
Wilted, withered in the gloom.
I listen to the trees, they help me breathe,
Clear my head when it gets crowded.
They remind me the sky won’t always be blue
And my mind too, will sometimes be clouded.