Maybe I want to know
what happens to the wolf
disappearing into woods
or beetles camaflouged
on freckled rock.
Often what is noticeable
is deceiving: the moon
how near it floats,
the weight of water,
the poison buttercup.
Perhaps, it's wiser to abandon
the search, let mysteries live.
In a language rarely heard,
the night agrees.
2 comments:
Had a wolf once... Irregular little SOB
Had a man once... irregular little SOB.
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