Gristlewolf

Rustle of feet hot

on the dry leaves,

reek of glossy limbs

and a torso soiled

with witch oil. I

am dancing-mad now

in Lupercal. This

is a shedding, law

falling from me, a

canine turn on the

life wheel. I crawl

to a log, squat on

strong haunches to

ambush the bitch

whose heat is tinder

to my forest spark,

my totem on a stick,

sorcery of the dark,

this dog who never

knew leash or call

to the mild rations.

I am the stark thief

du bois. Ivy, cress,

ragwort and rose-

all cringe from my

slink, this stealth

malevolent, revenge

sweet on the teeth.

My crest is crossed

claws on a red field.

I am Long Lankin and

Crag Jack, Raw Head

and the pack's main

cur. Why a woman

must suffer all ire

not even I can swear,

crouched in shadows,

sparrow still, feral-

the question eludes me,

fruit inside the peel,

fang in the shut maw.

Hush now, the innocent

nun attends my howl.

I quill my hackles

and clutch to spring.

Structure

45 lines · 2 stanzas