Dapper in a topcoat and tails, feet moving fast and graceful as birds skimming still waters, he whirled and swooped, catching my mother, still young and slim, by the waist, bending her backward. She ... [+]
to jump through our chaste window,
carry us over the midnight snow
under a far moon?
Dare we—at this stage in the old game—dare
to feel the galloping charge
of hot breath, rough hair?
Outside our window the dreamwolf passes,
hungry, unconcerned with us.