I used to tell my mom
I'm scared
when the wolves came calling out back
but really I was shy.
was ashamed to admit
all I wanted was to be one of them
to slip into their paw prints
feel the dewy night kissing my ears
to lift my face to the wolf gods,
their bodies reflecting my dark eyes

I'd scrabble through the stale snow,
run until my lungs were scorched
I'd follow until they let me in
to touch them
feel them
lick their cheeks,
winding into their memories
with a slightly steaming spool slowly spinning,
ready to gobble them up
and replace my own

I'd yap and howl the way they do
Leap; spine arched,
into their midst
and match their moon choked tones

I'd want to be a mystery
Have those feeble humans claim they know everything
about me
but really, they’d never even scratch the surface
of the wolf who gleams like ivory
of the wolf who streaks like fiery song
pulsing through the snow

I'd want to be the invisible; you know, that thing that’s watching you
bending through the slip of trees
the thing your eyes strain to find
the thing you wait all night to see

I want to have them look at me,
the ones who think they found me first,
I want the poets
the artists
and writers
to look into my face and say
how beautiful, those eyes
how brave or fierce or wise
and I would grin my wolfish grin
bare my snarling teeth on cue
ignore their stupid human stupor
knowing what they never would
that being a wolf is better than sitting alone
inside
waiting
for them
each night
to lure me with their round raw voices
their silver heart shaped faces
their unforgiving bodies tensing
tails whipping
hammered paws sailing
like white frost oceans
the kings and queens
searching for castles
among the rabble
rubble
waves

--Lily

Here I am driving
Alone sitting at the wheel
My life seems so good

To all the simple people,
I see your simple tastes,
I watch you wash your simple clothes,
And clean your simple face.

To look at you and wonder how,
You live your life under darkened clouds,
You blend so casual with a crowd,
And carry burdens like kings under crowns.

To you whom I adore, I ask:
Can I live my life so naked,
Can my ways be forsaken,
And can I become myself again?

A father quaffs spiked egg nogg.
& Somewhere in Prague,
a homeless man glows with real cheer
that comes with a gift of Christmas beer.

Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.

With my whole body I taste these peaches,
I touch them and smell them.  Who speaks?

I absorb them as the Angevine
Absorbs Anjou.  I see them as a lover sees,

As a young lover sees the first buds of spring
And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar.

Who speaks?  But it must be that I,
That animal, that Russian, that exile, for whom

The bells of the chapel pullulate sounds at
Heart.  The peaches are large and round,

Ah! and red; and they have peach fuzz, ah!
They are full of juice and the skin is soft.

They are full of the colors of my village
And of fair weather, summer, dew, peace.

The room is quiet where they are.
The windows are open.  The sunlight fills

The curtains.  Even the drifting of the curtains,
Slight as it is, disturbs me.  I did not know

That such ferocities could tear
One self from another, as these peaches do.