Look to the wolf for ideas. How to
spend your time creeping through darkness
towards the nimble hearted who will leave
this world in nature's belly.
Once, I believed I was made of stars;
poor, sad shining light swallowed by wolves
each time they howl. And beauty was
a yellow eye that caught the moon,
held it in its claws and mouth,
caught the deer, the shivering mouse,
the wavering gold-throated bird
without a sense of grief or guilt.
Can we help but wonder of visible life
as if the unseen, the subtle illusions
of movement (rustling leaves, distortion
of light, the hidden, invisible parts)
may not exist at all?