Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Wilderness Song



Burning the wild lands, the moon rises gold; gold the eyes of wolves
Running in a rapid crouch up the snowy hill.  Exhaling,
I slip into the aspens, follow their tracks into a threshold of
Light under the firs.  The moon squats fat among them. I
Linger and watch, afraid.  Discard the fantasy that
I could be accepted, that I could be safe, that I could run.  With them.
A screech of owl cries. Wolves sing: close chorus, far response.
Nothing contains the fierce sacredness of this music.  I want to
Call back from this hidden body.  I pluck a tuft of fur from a drift,
Embrace bare branches, moon-bruised sky.  In

A cloud-smudged mirror of ice, shadows flicker, a broke
Face of moon shimmers.  I whisper: elk, caribou, antelope.  Stubbornly,
I reclaim the dream of hunting with the wolves.  Oh folly!  Will I return to this
Evening over and over, sifting through these images, lies and dreams?
Late-night owl calls again.  Wolf tracks fade in drifting snow.  I glimpse
Deer, then fox.  Braid my tracks into theirs.


Written By Amber Wilson 2009


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