There's something about the wolves
something almost unidentifiable
their midnight howl that pierces the sky
and renders in the air for all those around it
with its seemingly infinite sway of passion.

Or maybe it's the way they're alive.
More alive than most,
not in health, but in apolaustic spirit.
Even when the cold winter's breeze
is whipping away at their bodies
testing them to an acme
where even they fear
they'll be unable to descend,
they stay together
comfort.

Isn't it strange
how the animals
show more humanity
than we humans do?

Consider living among the wolves
to feel the invisible force only they can feel
the presence of compassion
in a way so foreign
and amatorily beautiful
than ours.

You howl
and you dance
and you sway
and you kick
and you hunt
and you listen
and you feel so alive you could scream
an exasperated out of tune note solely for the sake of screaming,
and you do
and you do
because you are.

There's something about the wolves.