Just as moisture concealed in the air awakens at dawn,
And descends into grass to greet the Sun with a myriad of lights,
Just as wind dies down on a summer evening,
And the boundless peace of the approaching night stills all but
clouds trailing after the Sun,
Just as the conflagration of moonrise above a forest turns into the
cool silver of a full moon,
(And werewolves drown in the fiery ecstasy of transformation),
So here, by the river of rivers, I tame my unquiet pack,
And teach myself to listen.
But on summer evenings bluish mist rises over meadows,
The moon wanes, and my pack, perhaps scenting prey, has scattered into
Only the wind lasts, and in unquiet gusts, shivering through my body,
Brings fragments of words, perhaps being spoken by someone on the other shore.