The wolf bares fangs
even when sleeping.
Legs move
in rapid dream-twitches;
cheeks quiver from tickling
branches that
swipe his head.
Leading the hunt,
he chases with
the others of the pack--
sweaty fear
fills his nostrils
as sanguine expectation
tingles in his gullet.
Nipping,
then ripping
at the flanks of a deer,
they jump with him
as one.
Then,
the imagined pack
straddles its
fallen meal,
dining
without grace.
A lullaby of teeth,
as enamel scrapes bone,
and the song of sinew, stretching
before tearing free from
the cooling carcass,
fill his night.
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