Some call it evil,
I call it natural: the wolf's ****** paw,
when all is silent, like memory,
at the carnage.
Forget aught else—
conundrums as feeble as
the limpid light through
the canopy, absorbed
in the wolf's terrible, black bite.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
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