Werewolf

The moon cleared the pines and the bones changed. A person stood in the needle dark, then the wolf took the chest, fur and fang, a sound like cloth tearing. That turn is the whole of the werewolf. People who heard it walked home without looking back, a werewolf gift already under the skin. It shows again in werewolf playing cards that no one wants to leave face up, in a werewolf notebook written in a hand that shakes after moonrise, in a werewolf postcard of the tree line where the change began. The pines go still. The change does not.