THE HOUR OF THE WOLF

by on December 2, 2010 :: 0 comments

one person can lose only so much blood before before falling salt
tears salt in blood salt in the brain salt in rain so the spark spins
around in my heart a start in my ears I can hear blood the dogs
can smell fear a foot in the snow and a foot in the doorway I am
such a fool I really don’t know the sun comes up tomorrow is not
a given with the hickory our sycamore has a war lasting decades
touch ice don’t feel it fine line between cold and numb but cross
it unawares almost broke my knee flying down the slippery steps
lying on black ice wife came running out saw me groaning on the
ground and said “Does it hurt?” felt stupid too there was nothing
I could do except lie there and “ooooooooooo……” then an old
photograph that looks just like an old friend in another life when
it gets too cold it’s like a secret fire that skin only knows dreamed
of a dog on my chest woke up there he was laughing at me boy
down in the gutter a shard of glass beneath the ice reflect the sun
sometimes the false dawn is called the hour of the wolf but there’s
no wolf either dust in a dead room is the only thing moving except
for my heart a bowl of fish soup a loaf of multigrain bread a tub of
butter the finches are back looking for sunflower seeds they were
here before stuck between the dream and the awakening I forgot
who I was again spring again celebrate it while you can know so
what tomorrow? who knows what I found? a lost treasure? even
I don’t know cardinal on his branch blooming redder than cherry
he is so happy! guess it was a bug that ran under the drawer but
I can’t be sure the house finch is an invasive species that has no
where else to go last turn not a pecker this time it was a sparrow
maybe blue next time I was feeding the squirrels one nut at a time
when one bit me on the thumb I guess he was bored or was simply
impatient but it hurt like hell but if squirrels don’t think then what’s
going through his mind when we see eye-to-eye?

Leave a Reply