Song of the Wolves

And the wolves call to her when night covers the land.

The crickets applaud as she dances above our heads.

As she draws the last breath from a lamb,

She presses a seed into the black earth.

And the ground shakes as she dances to a heartbeat.

For, they vibrate her sternum with their life.

And she hums to the tune of the avalanche.

She shakes with joy as she admires her creations.

No thing is as wild as her.

No thing as free.

As ruthless.

Death is her weapon-

She wields it viciously.

Knowingly.

She opens herself, for she knows the best and the worst-

But, her creation deceives her.

It hurls bullets at her chest.

Breathes poison into her lungs.

She gasps, and bleeds, and tries to run.

Stuck, shattered, falling, falling-

Nothing can stop her decent.

Nothing below her to catch her fall.

She swirls into darkness, alone, alone.

We have lost her.

We have lost everything.

She is all that is and isn’t.

And the wolves song comes to an end.

A strangled last note.

They huff and puff-

But there is no air to fill their lungs.

The sky has fallen.

And the silence is deafening.