My child thinks the moon was moving,
Because the clouds were passing across its oval face.
What I hear as the howl of a wolf becomes a siren:
The intermittent fire truck honk confirms my error.
Yet wolves have been sighted in parks nearby.
Once they howled a chorus with the neighborhood dogs.
The rain is slanted. Branches dangle off wires and gutters.
The space between the earth and the dark-lit sky
Consists of whooshing wind and cracking trees.
The door behind us closes, three days into February.
