Wolves slipping through the snow, trees
Wolves in play rolling over one another
Wolves calling, mating, barking, biting.
A stray baby coyote seeks a dreg or speck
But angry, bitter fangs, claws tear her to bits
An unannounced manna to the winter pack.
His helpless mother howls and escapes into the mist
Wolf city admits no coyotes, foxes, dogs, hounds.
Baby wolves are trained in the way of blood
Big foxes dream, call and wait for blood.
The head wolf calls and the valley answers in trepidation
The king wolf calls and frightening echoes chill the valley
Of the blood yet to be spit, of throats slit for dinner.
The queen wolf must be celebrated even by the moon and stars
Lady wolves make the forger’s bed.
In the dark snow and mist
All blood are licked clean
All bones are crushed held as trophies
In this banquest of blood, shades of darkness.