{"sf1_id":1697648,"sf2_id":"GnDba8er","title":"Rest Less","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":412,"posted_at":"2021-03-20T23:18:00.000Z","tags":["Couplets","Poetry","Spondaic hexameter","Werewolf","insomnia"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1697648-rest-less","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/GnDba8er","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/e8/f2/e8f2aba0-eec8-4536-bdf9-32f0ba8347d3","description":"#10 of poetry\n\nI urge you to remember that not all poems need be autobiographical.\nAnd that any heterosexuality implied herein is fictional, and any appearance of heterosexuality, living or dead, on the author's part is purely coincidental.\nThis appeared on The Voice of Dog, read by  khakidoggy and you can listen to it here: https://www.thevoice.dog/episode/rest-less-a-poem-by-rob-macwolf","content":"Cold clouds coiling around the pregnant moon.  \nNight is calling to me. It is rising. It is soon.  \nSecret scents nocturnal up are swelling, and above  \nThe moon rolls like a mirror of the face of her I love.  \nI will not go outside tonight, will nor unbar the door.  \nMuch as I love the moon above I love my pillow more.  \nDusk depths deepen, but my quilt is just as deep.  \nTonight will I lie warm beneath the secret seal of sleep.\n\nLong yards yearning as the night wears on:  \nA room becomes a furlong after the light is gone.  \nStrong ways winding on familiar hills  \nAll still to be discovered. When the fire chills  \nThe ashes seem the silver streak across the open plain,  \nWhen green is gone and blue is gone and black and white remain.  \nSweet grass sweating out a liquid cold.  \nClose clothes fretting, but my will will hold.  \nThough out upon the mountains I have gone questing oft,  \nMy eyes are very weary and my bed is very soft.  \nThe midnight wind is bracing as a wine of molten red:  \nI have no need of either. I am already in bed.\n\nSilence sits as even as summer sifted sand,  \nPeace, forgetfulness, and bliss are all within my hand,  \nWhen drifts a wandering whistle across the fluid night,  \nIts tone is very heavy, its voice is very light.  \nIt carries, calls, and choruses from engine cloud to me.  \nIt rings the glassy silver rails that lead down to the sea.|  \nIt howls and harmonizes with the songs of yesterday  \nThat also echoed off the moon. And sleep is far away.\n\nThe train is gone, the whistle fades. She will have heard it too.  \nI am already doing it: I know what I must do.  \nTall trees rustling as I unlock the door  \nWhere every night I thrill to think I may return no more.  \nWild wind whispers of the wildest paths we trod  \nWhere in moonshadows darkly we may see the face of God.  \nBrisk breeze bracing on my heavy hanging tongue.  \nSward is soft between my toes, the blades are new and young.  \nScant breath skitters across my shivering skin.  \nThe leaves smell sweet around me and savory within.  \nCold clouds clearing as the moon sails on.  \nIt lights the open threshold, I am already gone.  \nWind wakes wildly and ruffles up my fur:  \nI think I'll go outside tonight, and take a walk with her.\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1697613-evensong-for-flock-and-pack.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1698539-autoimmune-scarring-of-the-myelin-sheath.json"}}