The moon's a mirror; each dog sees
himself as wolf framed in its breadth,
full-waxed into the nameless night.
Which of us might look up and howl
at our own image, true yet distant?
Which of us might believe the day
no longer, trusting only dim
reflections of our soul's desire?
Give me the sun, too bright to look
upon, too much to understand,
a mirror only unto God.
The wolf may sleep in shadowed den,
in dream alone to know the moon
and sing his image from the sky.
Stephen Brooke ©2009
Reasonably strict tetrameter but blank, as is much of my stuff. I'm big on rhythm but consider rhyme not particularly important to English-language poetry. Typically, the moon is a relatively benign metaphor for romance and mystery so I thought I'd try to step sideways a bit from that. Some of the imagery here relates to The Moon card in the tarot major arcana.