The Wolf goes unscathed
I felt you leave me at the fourth stroke precisely. A great long pull and your soul removed from me while I was on the stairs. Under the white aspirin moon my quiver fell from me, my bow and my little grey arrows. I crumpled into a shucked skin, a carapace because you had been holding me up- kept me from sleeping, in stasis. They offered me water, a unicorn’s horn- nobody knew why I was howling!
Out of my mouth came thin Actaeon’s ghost
into the region of lost things, the wounded:
A hair in my bed- the hare in the wood,
I’m choking on hubris
I ‘ll not hunt you.
written 2004
Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights resrved
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