Strider

The wolf across the lawn
Plodding North to South.
Turns to stare and yawn,
Foamy tendrils from his mouth.

The onyx of his eyes,
So watery and black.
What do they realize
When they see me looking back?

From doorway safe and warm,
A longing face forlorn.
Coat of grey, mane of coal
Pulled high over a lonely soul.

Sunken flanks and striding slow,
The road must have been hard.
His snout then turns towards hills to go
Away, out from my yard.

I've never dreamt a lonesome wolf,
Much less know what it means.
Perhaps a sign of wansome growth
Or travels that are lean.

Heading towards the vast unknown,
With purpose sure and clear,
Acknowledging the time to go.
A hunter's moon next year.


4/5/22