Brush Wolf Of The Golden Gate.. Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

we see your delicate features, fringe and ruff
encircling what appears to us as a smile...
we hear your less-than -diminutive yips
of a pitch that unnerves the smaller scurriers....
we feel your wildness, your hunter's intensity and focus
you scent the wind, and are carried by your agile paws to prey...and survival...
you cross bridges we have designed to carry
our lumbering and wheeled
conveyances...
.you do so by night, and turn to smile at us as if in thanks...
our territory?
it is yours...we are only visitors....
you are, in a word we use to attempt description of that which is one with your blood and for which you need no word, 'forever'....