The Dark, Small Wolves

The Dark, Small Wolves


At the edge of the lot, it becomes something larger.
Tongue lolling, slinking without fear
It falls under the long bus shadow.


It seeks the old blood held inside.
It circles, becoming the wolf alone
That once sought the bleeding buffalo, the bear-guarded carrion.


It has grown larger with time,
Has darkened around the neck, lost the telling angles
Of degeneration. Without the wolf, it becomes more like them.


Inside, the musicians have worshiped them as the face
Of the old earth deity. The wild things of the night. The teeth of the world.
They have brought out the smell of blood, for all to feel.


At night, it stalks out without fear, paces from the light.
Wherever there is food, there are mouths to take it
Wherever there is night, the small wolves will fill it.