I remember the cat with her crooked teeth
and the wolf with teeth like jagged pearls
who ate her.
And I loved the wolf for his hunger,
his honesty, without plate or fork
or napkin or insincerity.
Who knows what the wolf
will consume next- the unmoving stars,
the watchful moon, the lazy cow sleeping
in the field, the crazy fox chasing
roosters like children playing tag
on a warm afternoon.
Nothing really disappears
even when it should. The most important
thing is love- and who says love
isn't love even if it tastes good?