Lupa's not gone too far, I hope!
I miss her like a limb torn from 
its socket, like food or like breath.

Hiding in some dark recess, she
waits for moondark,  slides past
sentinels, survives to howl again.

I have grown pale and timid, afraid
to own my anima.  Yet, memories of
free-ranging, gulping and tearing at life

Exulting in my skills, my strength
needing no one's let or hindrance
prod this calm resignation, apathy.

In dreams I lope with the pack, in 
full cry, chasing bloodlust, joy of
authenticity its own fulfillment.

I wake to sorrow that it fades away
with morning, and the roles I play.

Bonnie Gardner
© 1998, National Library of Poetry, "Best Poems of 1998"