Under the Sign of the Wolf

Under the Sign of the Wolf

Ribbons of light,
dust motes dancing
to a whispered tune
as the wind creeps
through the open window,
lay across the room.

The morning hush
is broken by a shadow's sigh.
The old dog,
hiding in dreams, stirs
as she chases
her youthful memories.

I sit at my desk,
its rich cherry color
lost in the gloom.
I stare at its dusty
pockets filled with forgotten
envelopes. A pencil,
the end evolved by chewing,
pokes an accusing finger at me.
An hourglass perches
on one corner,
the sand lying motionless
as if time has stopped.

I perch, owl like,
on the edge of my swivel chair,
as my mind absorbs
the puzzle pieces that surround me.

A framed picture of a wolf,
singing its silent song
to a moon that never sets,
stirs my own memories.
The clank of spray cans,
the sharp tang of paint,
the movement as I watched
deft strokes cage this creature of the night.

A song without a melody,
a cry shared with the night,
a seeking ...
a poem.

An entry for Round 16, "Shadows and Light Poetry Contest" 
Line Count: 45