SEASON OF THE WOLF



All disillusion
knows not its
	tortured Loss

nothing aches
as brilliant
like tundra stillness

the jumbled
	twist of
fear
	lays sprawled
	like Robin's Eggs

waiting for warmeth
and nurture to eject
	it into Birth

canyons echo
only crystal emptiness
inside eternal walls

snow falls
there is silence
instead of distant wolves calling

to answer a darkness once as

elusive as themselves

temperatures drop
like thickened ice

once wrapped across
muzzles
	that sang to its frozen descent

man trespassed,
leaving behind more than just footprints

all wonder, not to cease
from the chaos of order left unrestored

lone cub
haunched beside its mother
in the bleeding whiteness of the snow

above, an Eagle dips
gently in his lonely flight

cocks his head sadly:

he observes from high
the sadness in the wind

the Chant of Wildlife
that beats like a broken heart

for the Last Season of the Wolf.