This poem by B.A. Wingate appeared in the Winter 2012 issue of Prairie Schooner (Vol. 86, No. 4):
HOW TO RECOGNIZE A WEREWOLF
The old verses suggest a cannibal; a man who can tell you
you taste like pig. Here is the meaning in the myth:
A real werewolf howls not to the moon but for the moon.
He will say she is silver. Leviathan in the night window. So bright
all he can see are stains in glass.
He will project a small madness on the monthly fulls.
He is the silver-blind gull calling to silver fish in the sea water.
Driven to blind-dive into the musk he steals without knowing
he’s swallowed something whole. Real werewolves four-finger
your upper arm like the first man took the pomegranate
from woman’s land. He lotus positions himself in your door.
He deep kisses with flat plane eyes. He resonates on a frequency
so unknown you will long to receive his diseases.
He will discharge silver with his semen.
In the throes, he will gull call. Gull call.
There will be weddings. There will be orbits.
He will tear out your throat unless you violate him over