A wolf moved through the forest of your body…
fierce, hunger a blade carving raw survival,
violence laced with the thrill of the chase,
ambivalent shadow: no saint, no scourge,
just wild, refusing mercy or chain.
Ribs the trees, veins the rivers,
his tread an ancient rhythm.
He kept the old laws,
howl stitched into your marrow.
And something in me flinched when the shadows did.
But the forest thinned.
Shadows shrank from metal.
Axes gnawed bone…
calculated incision, not feral snap.
Luminous snares whispered false trails,
deliberate murmurs warping the scent,
luring instinct astray.
Then the plundering…
hands that gutted earth
opened your forest body,
found roots and wrenched them loose.
Trees felt him falter.
Ground knew he was taken.
At the pool’s edge he bent to drink.
Water betrayed him.
No wild wolf stared back…
only a muzzle bound in leather,
shadow of the forest’s son.
And now I lie where forest cannot reach.
Your forest body fallen,
and I am what remains inside it.
-UpsilonA



Great poem. This wolf, it seems, shouldn’t have drank the water! The wolf is supposed to be my spirit animal.🐺
Nice poem: Love the story telling and vision.