Between Moments by Peter Baltensperger

When the moon is full, the wolves howl in the forest, and breasts swell like the tide. There’s a sense of dread, the fear of not knowing what comes next, the shivering uncertainty of being. The air is thick with trepidation, indistinct dissatisfaction, the vague apprehension of impending doom.

A woman lies on her bed, luscious breasts in her hands, trying to shut out the howling of the wolves. She conjures up a man for herself, bearing down on her breasts, on her pelvis, his masculinity full of surprises, burrowing for secrets only the moon should know.

The moon disappears behind a bank of black clouds. The wolves pad into their lairs in silence, sniffing out probabilities, baring their teeth at shifting shapes. The man shudders in his sleep, lost in a dark forest. The woman sighs, phantoms of weights bearing down on her soul.

The night is charged with ambiguities, too many meteorites, not enough resolutions. Daylight won’t resolve the dread, endless vibrations between what is and what could have been spilling over the edge. The woman sinks into a fitful sleep.

© 2011 Peter Baltensperger

Peter Baltensperger is a Canadian writer of Swiss origin and the author of ten books of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. His work has appeared in print and on-line in several hundred publications around the world over the past several decades. He writes, and has been writing all this life, because he is driven to and because it lends a special significance to his quest. He makes his home in London, Canada with his wife Viki and their two cats and a tortoise.

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