When I Met the Wolf: A Poem

I skied beneath the light of the moon
through forest and clearing
my dog ahead
startling rabbits and partridge to flight—
to our mutual delight—
Mars piercing the east
south, Jupiter lying low
sky and earth bathed in lustrous blue
skis running quiet in the snow.

“Here dog”
her eyes shining green in my lamp
peering from the cedar stand,
when another pair of green eyes appeared
the night filling and tremoring with howls
calls like angel’s cries
lost between heaven and earth.

The wolf emerged as a vision from ink black shadows
primordial power and mythical presence
as old as the stars
standing with regal bearing by the tree line
expressionless, assured of its place and purpose.

My dog, victor of a hundred back-alley scraps
stayed by my knee
and I, with scarred knuckles and a jaunty eye
held my breath.

I have yearned to enter
the wonder of sun rise and sun set
to breathe the silence of the full moon,
to touch the stars wavering in the night
to live in the eternal, moving spirit of beauty,
yet I am apart, standing alone, a visitor.

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