And the moon isn't even full until next Friday

[pjthompson]

Canis latrans

Sometimes I feel my mouth pucker up,
my snout point towards Heaven,
and from somewhere south
of my stomach comes an eruption,
rising through my guts,
pushed into the world
from my lungs by an emotion
similar to rage, kind of like hope,
somewhat like love, but not unlike
lonely heartache, rising past
my heart, throbbing through my throat
and out, finally, through my lips.
Some call it howling,
but I call it singing.