Wolf at Heart
My heart still holds the crimson heat
Of fire like a distant spark,
Whose brazen lure of burning meat
Had drawn me through the dripping dark,
Where golden eyes met mine, and burned
With canine warmth and gratitude,
And as I shared her scraps, I learned
That love's a chain, and hate is food.
I guard my master, and I hate
His foes, as if they were my own;
I love the hearthside, and my mate —
My wolf's heart leaps for her alone.
The fire's confined, as are the tribes;
The snowy sheep are bought and sold,
But still, my tether circumscribes
An arc of field, an arc of fold
Enclosing blackness I have rent
With silent gaze, through tireless eyes;
For those with curious intent,
I can provide one last surprise.
I broke my own law to be tame;
I am my master's contraband,
I share the love, but not the blame,
Which cannot touch that hallowed hand
Where winter wastes are holy ground,
With moon-stark shadows, black on white,
And like the cold, I make no sound,
Because I save my strength to bite.
|© 2007 by Ellin Anderson. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied or used in any way without written permission from the author.|
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