Arts + Scene » Poetry

Taken Off the Endangered List

(the culling of the pack)


1 comment

The horse does not go into the forest with us

(She remembers the long days of the long hunt)
(The spear in flank and bloody meat roasting on sticks)
The horses skirt the edges around
The pack moving sure-footed on moss floor

Ten by ten by ten by three
The pack is gathering shrouded by a Moon Fog

The horses do not go in with us
but beckon on the night wind
“Look Look Look
Near and far as you go.
Man is fickle. And you will die.”

The Moon Belongs to the Wolf Alone

Diana drops the stars on threads of 100,000 cocoons
Cascading like spells from her fingertips

Imploring the boldest to power through
Avoiding the stampede and the 400 deaths to come

If only she could reach high enough to pull down the rubber boots
Call forth a remembering rain from that next Cosmos to flood the gleaning

The memory rain, the deep human sleep
of riding horses bareback,
the monkey tales when Siberian tigers and Snow leopards held court,
the ancient lying down next to animal heartbeat
the warm suckling
the warm fur around warm teats


Showing 1-1 of 1


Add a comment