A WOLF by Jorge Luis Borges - October 1992
in the final twilight,
he lopes by,
leaving his spoor along
the bank
of this nameless
river that has quenched the thirst
of his throat, these waters that repeat
no stars.
Tonight, the wolf is a
shade who runs
alone
and searches for
his mate and feels
cold.
He is the last
wolf in all
of Angle-land.