at the scratch line
it’s understandable how the wilderness can seem naive
in the presence of the city, but i can’t identify that
when i’m running with the wolves.
my paws are purposefully placed.
if i was better at speaking directly
you might not have called me wild,
but when you say: act, i think: i am,
like an animal.
a wolf is enthralled with the moon because of decision
not eagerness and sometimes when i can see the moon during the day
it makes me howl unprofessionally while the sun is out.
it’s true, i’m easily excitable and i’m not sure if you understand
that i recite no fairy tales but spend time memorize
the names of deities.
you don’t know me very well but i sense you
feel comfortable enough to make commands.
it confuses me.
i don’t know you very well.
i write— what i would otherwise try and say directly
with no understanding of what you sense,
it is my stretch before the run or my heals digging in
or my knees bent so i can better handle the impact
(or sometimes, my paws over my ears).
where the bodies are buried
you do need to find where that cemetery is
because those bodies will tell a story— and
trust me, they will be in the same grave, one
layer or two, thrown or laid to rest, they are
maybe the only truth entangled with each other
because they have settled together but you have
to remember who was buried first and how many
times the earth has been disturbed to add others
and then you count them, and you name them if
you can name them and you sit with them
because trust me, you will need time to think,
as you decide if those bodies are arranged like
yours are, or if it’s too different and you can’t
handle knowing where they are.