A Wolf, At Night

You’re blowing the squalls of magnetic particles,
they infiltrate my mind, steal me from the present
they flatten my inner landscapes to the board
where the absence of reflected suns
has tarnished its surface.
Though the window, still, stars keep passing by.

I know the magic words to blow away the night statics,
to send them off to distant herds,
Less seasoned, more porous, or still standing
behind the closed window of writing.

On the fringes, background noise
Alone in my room
Homesick from an unknown land again
It had been while now since Nostalgia
Hadn’t lit up my nigh skies.

On the top of the rocks, a wolf is howling
trying to spot members of the pack
he has lost along the way.

Franck Joseph

©FJ August 2021
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