T. J. Klune

Once, the moon had loved the sun.
Once, there was a boy.
Once, there was a wolf.
He had sat with his back against a tree.
His bare feet were in the grass.
The boy leaned forward and kissed the wolf.
And knew then that nothing would ever be the same.
An unkindness of ravens swirled around me, feathers rustling.
The air was redolent of roses.
And I gave everything I could. For him.
For my wolf.