Imagine you’re a werewolf. Imagine you’re in love. Funny how you lose track of time, eh? Well no, not all that funny, really…
In a moment before moonrise when the land holds its breath,
In the shadows before moonrise in my arms she is still.
In the darkness under starlight, when the shape of the moon
Is a mystery, until moonrise, I am awaiting His will.
In the darkness of the new moon, when He dresses in grey,
With His cape of the black empty space,
He is cold dark in His silence, but He troubles me not
To be changed by His terrible face.
I give nothing to my lover but the truth of my nights,
She receives me, and loves me no less.
And I wonder at her beauty and the love in her eyes,
And I wonder at her gentle caress.
In the waxing and the waning, when His half-face shines new,
When he blesses the children of earth,
There is time still for the follies of the innocent night
For His sons half-awaiting their birth.
She has bound me with her pleasures, but my hands are untied;
She has caught me in no net but her love.
And a net is a shadow and her bindings are dreams
When He shows me His face from above.