Reintroducing the Wolf
       

There's no moon
tonight to dress the lawn
or drape the low bed,
the only light the clock
fallen from the nightstand.

Outside, the street bucks
the sidewalk's bank, a
transformer hums. What stirs
an unquiet mind from
its preoccupations?

The wolf enters panting,
muscles tensing under
the sheets. A tentative half-
snarl culled from base pairs
breaks from my throat as

I lope through waist-high
grass. Birds without number
hurtle above me, cragged
wind keens from my
north, blue as inlaid ice.

How sweet the loosed
blood, how blinding
the heat sweeping from
the backs of falling sheep
like blown snow!

Beside me, my wife
stirs, turns her back. With
no sound (no bleat or
whimper) the latest star
to die tonight blinks out...

and in the hole it leaves
I fall back into myself—
the taste of blood still fresh,
my pale skin clammy
and strange to the touch.

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Copyright © 2021 Jeff Ewing All rights reserved
from Wind Apples
Terrapin Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission