Thursday, May 29, 2014

What we would do, if we could

Stranger gone by,
alone in his head,
lone wolf set dreaming,
dreaming dark places,

and vast, teeming praries,
a leaping of blood
overflowing old channels,
snarling and snapping

and making the sky.
Stranger gone stalking
and sniffing
and the air sniffing back,

ruffling and dancing and drinking
the dream
of the wolf on the land,
the wolf of the forest,

wolf of the prarie.
The air becomes wind
flowing with news
of the stranger behind,

whispering places
and planning the way
to stay ahead of the sun,
keeping the secrets

of strangers and wolves
and where the blood races,
forever leaps forward
and makes its new way.

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