the wolf and the crane and the moon and the clouds and the night

and then the moon sighs and breathes out a few clouds
the ripples on the surface of the lake cut
the moon into thin silver slivers -
no mercy - the breeze pushes those silver blades
to the edges of the lake

the crane stands on its one leg, looking at the moon
and the clouds and they sing their blue song together
the silver gray of the mindless night hides the tune
with its veils

across the sky jumps the one winged flying wolf
whistling its own song - ooo-ooo-ooo and the world
freezes for a moment, nothing moves

the feathers of the crane all shining a-white, the moon
light and the wing of the wolf that slowly flaps
the crane and the wolf - moving moment after moment -
through their lives, in shades of abnormality

especially on such nights, and quite so often - on
many a day too - with similar thoughts
punctuating their every breath
'why did i do it then?'
'why didn't i do it then?'

it's just
the wolf and the crane and the moon and the clouds and the night