Wolf Cry

cry, wolf cry!

for the steely jaws of
the hunter's hidden trap has
	 ensnared your baby

and the last thing you
ever heard
	was the searing, piercing agony
of those miniture cries
	that you could not stifle
		nor release

how they echo still down centuries
	of wild, untamed brush and Artic canyon
	left to spiral inside prisms of snowdrift
captured in a moment of frozen grief

how
	for
		days
you laid beside your cub's body,
	intermittently licking
		blood and snow,
still
not
believing

and how, in trying to bring your only pup
	back to life,
you
froze beside it
	your eyes open
	to the terror and grief
you left behind for
	us to gather
in its pitiful wake
	
and what shall we do with it when we find it?

	Shall we learn then
	to control our cruelty




or find ourselves as well
	captured in a globe
	of dismantled and
		melancholy snow