Wolf
it is twilight when the wolf appears at the edge of woods limning the overgrown meadow
charcoal gray dense fur almost masks the face
to stare at her will make you her enemy so search for the dog star dippers big and little find the burgeoning moon reveal silver wild oat
her breath becomes apparent in the autumn air; her odor pervades all other senses
only then will you be seduced by her lips’ delicate tingle, the frailty of her naive eyes fondle your forehead
when white stars emerge you might wish she would howl to convene her whole pack so you could have them all
but her malleable tongue strokes your neck in that moment when she takes your head into her completely open jaws
tenderly, as a baby reaches up to your face to adopt you with both arms, you then know primal love
with her there is no all or nothing you are hers
© Diane Stevenson Schmolka 3rd draft: Nov.3, 2006
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