I want to howl, growl, call out

I want to serenade the moon that waxes

above the trees of Buena Vista. Stars–

a few bright souls hover above the city lights

in a black sea sky.

We may be city dwellers but

our animal energy remains

no matter how suppressed, you see,

we call ourselves urbanites but

we were not born of pavement.

All afternoon Haight street stirs, stretches, groans

now ink sky settles and

the platform for so much animal activity

throbs with the prowling energy,

roving feet of the night creatures.

A party, it’s on my stoop downstairs–

bad eighties beats blast through burnt boombox speakers

a crowd yips and yells, speaks too loud, spills their drinks

a girl–black ringlets spill out from under

a pinstripe fedora, cropped aviator jacket

black jeans skinsnug, tucked into knee high boots,

her head tips back and sweet laughter pours into night air

Hungry eyes of male wolves widen

instincts raise pulse rates

the moon slides higher.

this is nothing new

yet tonight the stakes

are driven by

tide by cycle of space by

the glowing white orb

that stirs the unshakeable urge to

howl howl howl

to that lovely urban moon.