Can You Hear the Wolf's Cry?

One night last summer when we were in Alaska, we were lying in bed asleep or falling asleep (depending on who we're talking about) and we heard some wolves howling some completely indeterminate (by me) distance away. As we were lying there, both Peter and I were entranced by the sound of it--it was such a poignant, deep, enthralling feeling to lie in bed and listen to a sound we'd never heard before and may never hear again, knowing that such a magnificent animal was close enough for us to hear but not see. To this day, when I think back on those moments, my heart still quickens and I still feel tingles in my body at the memory of it. It even brings tears to my eyes. I don't know why it has this effect. All I know is that now I yearn to hear it again. Something tells me that if I ever do, I will only be disappointed because the magic of that experience is not likely to be duplicated. This is a poem I wrote a few days ago after talking to Peter about this experience again. (I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but this poem just kind of jumped into my head and I feel like it captures the way I feel about that night, so I thought I'd better put it in "my jernul". It's actually really embarrassing to me to have this here, but I'm putting it here anyway because this is where it belongs.) Here it is:

Can you hear the wolf’s cry?
Stretch. Turn. Listen.
There!
Do you hear it?
Feel the chilling music in your bones.
Let it take you back.
A time you don’t remember.
But somehow it’s familiar.
Feel the music of the pack.
In your chest. In your arms. In your fingertips.
Can you hear the wolf’s cry?