A WOLF by Jorge Luis Borges - October 1992



Grey and furtive 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.