Poem by Ana Toma
Howling at the Moon
She loved all places that carried the letters of
Loved his clean-shaved face, his smokey voice;
his short smooth hair, and his well cared toes.
He was everywhere, here and there…
He was in the late nights of chatty handwritings,
In the best-sellers stories, and well-stocked books;
In the genius brains, and dirtiest looks.
In the lovely windy nights, dancing with the wolves.
In the pleasant dreams, having cheerful talks.
Was in the glittering sun-rays, and enjoyable walks.
Eventually found him, in the romantic storylines;
In the flashing birthstone, counting emerald stars.
She wrote a name in the scattered moon-dust sky,
Howling at the Moon: “how and why?”