if tonight

in this snow-dark wood

i by wolves am torn asunder

raise your glass to their howl

for today i followed after

the tracks of an absent

otter

who soundless belly-slid

toward one round black hole

on this ice-trimmed river

from the fragile edge; there

all tracks end, there always

one moment perches on

the brink

before going under.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s