so the evening wind
brushes by

i feel the Soul of a Wolf
nearby

all is quiet
all is frozen

in the winter silence
where my heart dies a little

i see his mate in a glen nearby
weeping gently over his body
		in the snow

i kneel to pray
for forgiveness of a crime
i didn't even commit

in my torment and grief, i ask,
who killed him?  why?

the she-wolf looks toward me and
smiles a wolf smile, a knowing
smile

she approaches softly
and we meet face to face
	and she licks the salt of my tears
from her fragile distance

who killed him, i asked? and why, i repeated
to her, to the Aspen trees, to God

so the evening wind
brushes by

i hear the Soul of a Wolf
nearby:

in my dying heart it answers:

we all did - - 
in our own way . . .

we all did.