The Wolf

Time passes
a metronome
with a circadian ebb and flow.
an ancient forest, laced with leaves,
a swirl of air where moth wings tread
so much left to overturn
gravity is exhausting
a battle cry
sung out from the depths of your belly,
a molten world encasing you.
it’s the calm that is unbearable.
The wolf is not always a wolf.
Sometimes he is a trucker called Jane.
You’ve met the wolf at a very,
very strange time in this life.