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.