Brilliance Afield
Burning the wild lands, the moon rises gold; gold the eyes
of wolves
Running in a rapid crouch up the snowy hill. Exhaling,
I slip into the aspens, follow their tracks into a threshold
of
Light under the firs.
The moon squats fat among them. I
Linger and watch, afraid. Discard the fantasy that
I could be accepted, that I could be safe, that I could
run. With them.
A screech of owl cries. Wolves sing: close chorus, far
response.
Nothing contains the fierce sacredness of this music. I want to
Call back from this hidden body. I pluck a tuft of fur from a drift,
Embrace bare branches, moon-bruised sky. In
A cloud-smudged mirror of ice, shadows flicker, a broke
Face of moon shimmers.
I whisper: elk, caribou, antelope.
Stubbornly,
I reclaim the dream of hunting with the wolves. Oh folly! Will I return to this
Evening over and over, sifting through these images, lies
and dreams?
Late-night owl calls again. Wolf tracks fade in drifting snow. I glimpse
Deer, then fox.
Braid my tracks into theirs.
Notes:
1)This is an Acrostic poem. Acrostics are often used as games or doggerel. I have chosen here to attempt a serious acrostic poem.
2)I would like to invite anyone interested to "play along" by writing serious (or not-so serious) acrostic poems and then posting the links in my comments section. I am sure you all know that in an acrostic poem, the first letter of each line creates a word when read vertically. It is a fun way to write about love or friendship or any other topic.
3)Poem and art by me, Mary Stebbins Taitt, published in Avocet. I'd love to think all of you subscribe to Avocet and have already read my poem, but I am guessing that is not the case. Because published poems are often read only by those who subscribe, I think I may post one of my published poems, maybe once a week, to share them with you. I hope that's OK.
