Up through black mountains, mist-hidden,
Crouched in a graven cave, eyes blink in the darkness-
a pack of wolves.
Thick white-grey fur blends together.
A round harvest moon, orange-tinged,
assembles with the stars.
Furry chins nestled against the others' necks,
As the pups breathe silent puffs in the dam's fur.
Rich brown eyes hidden by lids, she snoozes;
lighter hazel swirling with hints of green,
he guards his pack, his everythings,
as they dream silently in their slumbers.
As a pack mate howls one last time at the moon,
the sun pushes the dark clouds away
dragging along the oranges and reds and blues,
life and movement and hearts, beating as one.
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