We are staring at the moon

and I think for a second we become

wolves again.

Screaming at the stars,

growling at the idea

that this night might end

and we will forget this moment,

as in turn we will be forgotten.

Our wild souls



We become wolves,

and for once we are running for something.

Instead of running from it.


© Ruth Awolola from Rising Stars New Young Voices in Poetry (Otter-Barry Books)