5 White Wolves

(good gold)

5 White Wolves

carried me home safe last night.

Hustled by wind and through bouts of fire

seamless in their run, panting and sharp -

I made it back safe.

There was no payback, no unnecessary tie to

water like a sailor's promise of the first born.

Just the quick rendering of feet like reindeer.

"Hush" one cried and went ahead.

Through the wooded brush and moonlit sky.

5 silvery white wolves and

their eyes more telling than a muse,

they nudged me ahead, "child,

don't be late."

I motioned towards my front door

crowned in birch and ambiguous rose thorn,

turned back to question, "why are the poetics not right?"

In bewilderment they gazed at me

cause none had a cure,

"the hearts an open door" one said.

I went forward, tempted the lock but then finally,

let go.

It was the 5 white wolves,

the decision I had to make.

The indecision I could not keep,

the fawn I had to resuscitate.

Each wolf shifting

individual time and space -

moving away like a free falling work of fire -

shots of impetuous yellow and orange entrails in

in the black.

5 white wolves -

silvery brilliant wolves.

The charm of grace, the fortuitous

meeting - the pack running

in the motion of one silver backed snake,

a bangle of light

keeping the forest alive and

safe.

Resilient, as a metronome of

forest drums,

quick wit,

and a secret added in to the

mix.

The strength of one wooded verse,

one night run,

one poem.

There is no leakage in good gold.

What I know, I truly now know.

and I haven't been

the same ever since.