The wolf dominates with relentless force. The moon dictates. The moon owns. My body sings with strength. I don’t know how to be Mara in this primal melody. I don’t know how to be Mara at all. Power surges in unfamiliar rhythms. The forest yields to my strength. I don’t want to yield. It is wild. It is intense. It is everything. My struggle to stay Mara is endless and beautiful and impossible.
The wildness leaves no space for doubt, no space for human uncertainty, no space for me. The intensity of it leaves no room. It is. It is. It is.
I am more wolf than woman, more wild than human, more animal than Mara. The night pulses with its need, with my need, with the raw and uncontainable pull of the moon. I push against it, but the push is not enough. I am more than I think, more than I know,
