Cindy Bousquet Harris
There was a wolf pack.
Some wolves ate what they killed.
Some ate what the others killed.
Some didn’t eat, but killed anyway.
Some hid while the rest were killing.
There was a wolf pack.
The wolves were grey and massive.
The wolves were skinny and rakish.
The wolves were red, and bounded through forest with deer in their tails.
The wolves were white fog disappearing into itself.
There was a wolf pack.
Wolf sounds echoed in cavernous sky.
Wolf sounds wove thick threads of howling.
Wolf sounds filled the space between birch and star.
Wolf sounds shivered the night till the stream had to cover its ears.
There was a wolf pack.
Some wolves groveled and licked.
Some let pups climb and tumble all over them.
Some couldn’t remember who the alpha pair was.
Some showed their fangs, chased the alphas away.
There was a wolf pack.
Their yellow eyes struck like lightning.
Their golden eyes held the moon.
Their citron eyes glowed in the hunt.
Their glint-eyes made darkness twitch and stir.
There was a wolf pack.
The wolves were wild and didn’t know it.
The wolves were wild and loved it.
The wolves were wild like storm surge, blizzard teeth.
The wolves were wild like new green after fire.
Clamor 