Black wolf waits in his domain
with glittering crystal trees
pristine, diamond-crusted snow.
He does not have a name;
he is grateful for it.
A dog moans, an old whale turning
in the grey-blue deep, his wail
muffled in moisture-laden clouds.
He has a name; he cannot bear
to hear it.
There, in twilight mist, dancing
in on dew-soaked shoes, silver cloak,
in blankets unifies the beasts
and calls them by their nature.