In hunger the mind fogs with red-raw visions
of skin unfolding like rose petals,
of blood and flesh spilling like uncorked wine.

The lead wolf lopes ahead of his brood
to the upper reaches of the river,
leaping stones, snapping at the air

as if each breath is a failed kill.
The others follow, single file, ears back,
heads low, propelled by their own starved sniffing.

In a distant deer herd, seas of content
suddenly stir. Surfaces of feeding ripple warily.
Death lumps in cervine throats.

From a shore of brush and grass, a wolf pack
flutters like brown and furry canvas,
sets sail for the islands of meat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lead Wolf

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