Just as moisture concealed in the air awakens at dawn,
And descends into grass to greet the Sun with a myriad of lights,

Just as the wind dies down in summer evenings,
And the boundless peace of the approaching night stills all but clouds trailing the Sun,

Just as the conflagration of moonrise above a forest changes into the cool silver of full moon,
(And werewolves are overwhelmed by the fiery ecstasy of transformation),

Thus here, by the river of rivers, I am taming my unquiet pack,
And teach myself to listen.

But on summer evenings bluish mists rise over the meadow,
The moon wanes, and my pack, perhaps scenting prey, has scattered into darkness.

Only the wind remains, and its unquiet gusts, shivering through my body,
Bring fragments of words, perhaps being spoken by someone on the other shore.