In the Name of Nature

Black wolf waits in his domain
with glittering crystal trees
pristine, diamond-crusted snow.

He does not have a name;
he is grateful for it.

A dog moans, an old whale turning
in the grey-blue deep, his wail
muffled in moisture-laden clouds.

He has a name; he cannot bear
to hear it.

There, in twilight mist, dancing
in on dew-soaked shoes, silver cloak,
in blankets unifies the beasts

and calls them by their nature.

1 comment:

Matt said...

It must just be your blog layout or something.

You can't possibly just keep writing poems this good. It's all that blue in the background that just makes my brain go fuzzy or something.

Okay, I'm just kidding. Excellent!