January Wolves

January Wolves Cold winter night-I think I see Mars. Now snow is falling like pale, white stars. The wolves are wandering the wooded path howling silver bullets at the moon, and I call to join the chorus from the window of my room. But they care not for stars or the words at my desk, or how long this tired heart has beat within my chest. And when they drag me to the river through freshly fallen snow, they'll leave me flayed and frozen so in spring the flowers grow. (This poem along with many others can be found in my book In Vast Spaces of Night) I was born a January wolf shaking blizzards from my thick coat. The cold can't touch me for I already carry it within, expel it as biting, echoing howls into the night air. My claws— my pen. My escape. A steadfast set of footprints staining a paper-white blanket of snow. This is a scent for fellow January wolves or anyone who sometimes longs to run wild with the winter wind. This scent is clear and winter-bright. Sun to shadow to sun. A night sky filled with vivid stars. Cold, wild air and a thick coat to keep you warm. You shake snowflakes from your fur and the scent of pine needles rise from the snowy ground. Sweet Clementine shines like the sun in her cloud-gray blanket. Airy white woods— pale birch and sandalwood are footsteps in freshly fallen snow. A subtle trail of allspice weaves through the bare trees, leads you to someplace warm and inviting.