Máni’s Flight

Moon of the north,

I see the wolves behind you.

Their howls split the branches,

and even the pines tremble,

casting their needles like prayers at your passing.

Do you fear the jaws at your heels,

or have you grown accustomed to pursuit?

Your silver face does not falter,

yet I know the shadow you carry—

the promise of an ending written at the world’s dawn.

Máni, I write to you as kin:

I too have run with silence close behind me,

I too have been devoured in part.

If you must fall at Ragnarök,

let me stand where your light collapses,

so I might remember

how even hunted things burn bright.