“Lord of the Night,
Bite me
For my meat is still tender
And my heart is still young.
With my restless howl I plead
My soul.
For only darkness can understand my sorrow
And only echo can answer my loneliness.

Days after days I have sharpened my claws,
Honed my jaws
To rip off my lifeless white skin,
To add a shade of passion red
For I feel myself suffocating,
From inside-out.
So here I gave you,
My heart.

Do you feel the vigor with which it beats?
Do you feel the passion with which it shines?
See the red blood
Trickle
Spread over the snow
Bloom like a red lotus.
See its cravings for release.

Now my Lord,
Hear my howl
And deem
If me, the mortal,
Is worthy of such heart.
If you do,
Mend this bloody mess.
If not,
Cut the last vein,
Free my heart from its corporeal burden,
Turn it to a star, a mountain, a hurricane,
And gave it a real life.”

And with that, the wolf gave one last howl,
A despondent tune with a shrill of hope.
The birches rattled like envious skeletons,
The wind roared in futile competition.
Time stood still for a moment
For it was a ceremonial of the infinitives,
And mortals were not invited.

The wolf collapsed.
But before he shut his eyes,
Longing as they still were,
He saw his echo
Ripped the dark sky,
Tore the moon to pieces,
And he smiled.