you call your shape from thin air
change in an eye-blink
dream-haunter, it’s you I’ve seen
nights, padding down forest corridors.
My soul calls to you, my kindred
My pack. My body shudders
As you pass and our eyes lock,
Your yellow animal eyes,
My hazel ones. I will always be
The witch on the greensward,
Hand outstretched to you,
Never afraid of you. You nuzzle
Into my palm. I read of you
As a child — werewolf, shape changer,
Vespa-scarred with liquid violet eyes,
Hawk flying on the wind,
— and knew one day you’d be mine.
Even on two legs, you lope, your staff
Carved with your secrets. I read them
With my fingers as if I could know
your soul.
