The wolf bares fangs
even when sleeping.
Legs move
in rapid dream-twitches;
cheeks quiver from tickling
branches that
swipe his head.

Leading the hunt,
he chases with
the others of the pack--
     sweaty fear
     fills his nostrils
     as sanguine expectation
     tingles in his gullet.

Nipping,
then ripping
at the flanks of a deer,
they jump with him
as one.

Then,
the imagined pack
straddles its
fallen meal,
dining
without grace.

A lullaby of teeth,
as enamel scrapes bone,
and the song of sinew, stretching
before tearing free from
the cooling carcass,
fill his night.