I'm wakened, drawn toward the ice-thin window,
to witness scenes as faint and still as death.
How bleak the moon; how bare the trees and meadows;
sky's pale maw overhangs
Earth bleached beneath star fangs.
Night's curled lip sneers on shadows
of mountains set like teeth.
Two bow-waves shear the median of the valley;
iced hayfield yields as feral muscles glide—
hoar-frost disturbed by wakes of live torpedoes;
grey shoulders breach and lope,
implode and telescope,
impelled by ruthless credos
of chilled and vicious pride.
The wolves tear savage furrows down the nightscape;
their eyes are shined with blood, their mission clear;
grass springs back shocked to green behind their passage,
twin tracks traverse the vales,
cold comets trailing tails
leave scarred in frost, their message:
"The wolves, the wolves passed here."
A refined poetic imagination, John B. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A thrilling tribute to wildlife! Thoroughly enjoyed every line. And John, thanks for the notes. They bring a whole new dimension to this excellent write.
Thanks, Richard. I'm glad you enjoyed it and I appreciate the close read of the lines and the notes!