Steven L. Peck
The Steam Wolves Hunt
She blew out the red
tallow candle
as we listened to the
sound
of the wind
in the rigging while our eyes
adjusted
to moonlight and
shadows
as the airship rose
creaking and groaning
toward
the scattered clouds
that we would
follow
in silence
to wherever the wind
was gracing us.
They were below us
following.
Following in the darkness.
Following with relentless
attention.
Yellow mechanical
eyes fixed
upward
relentlessly watching,
waiting.
For now, we were
safe in the gracefully
floating
zeppelin in the sky,
which would
unavoidably soon descend.
