In the days after the reign of rain, where the desert once was moor, the foreboding wer-ever would howl silently (since no one was there to hear it) in the long-lost woods, changing into a whatever whenever the moon reached full circle on its monthly sojourn across the midnight sky.

Ken Gosse usually writes whimsical, rhymed verse. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, later in Pure Slush, Home Planet News, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Spillwords, and many others. Raised in Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife live in Mesa, AZ, with rescue dogs and cats.