How fallen from them, their blood-matted fur, eyes urine yellow and live with knowledge. Your body slackened, post-fang, post-sinew; how dull the arrowed bulb of your nose. All day you have stalked and wagged around the yard. After our meal, its quieted clatter, the house glows against the deepening sky. The trees disappear into the woods. Out there whiskers pluck to danger, hungry mouths begin to wet. What light the tamed moon has kept for itself glistens on the pack’s withers, their roan pelts, the terrible claws. The sleep of a home is forgetful sleep: when, from across miles of wood and soil, they howl their quest, you perk your sudden ears as if to comprehend a language turned to gibberish, irreconcilable. Though in your dreams you bay and twitch, you feast.