There is a form to my flesh, a color to my skin
I am a base
I fuse with words, attach to me
I push down whispers of identity that come aching, hours into the night 
Wolves and owls,
A life with wolves and owls
I cry beneath the moon I so fondly refer to as sweet luna
Oh luna, night lamp of the sky
Great canister of light
You know your fame
Who would ever daresay she was never Sweet Luna, she had no name