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To the aware wolves belong
The space between ghosts
And night of eggplant dark
The moon, himself a wandering lost soul,
Peers through tree-tops for
My heart – a deer frozen
In a forest of eyes
Shaped like leaves
I know the wolves are near
I see them when they
Blot out the moon
Hear them when they call
My name. Summoning them
Is an entertainment
At my own expense
They lope alongside me
And when I look at them
Their eyes get bigger
I treat them now as my children
Feed them everything I have
They all live with me
And I am everything I wanted to be
Except I am living it backwards
“It’s time to wake up,” I say, “It’s
Time to make furniture and food;
it’s time to open the big front door
and find the Universe whizzing by
in peak form, and true”
And at night I draw these new friends around me
Like a fur coat, and look up at the moon
Awash in darkness, and the hunger
Comes out of me
A long wail in the night
