Lying prone in the grimy gutter, there
exists a resting place for shameful memories
that were frantically swept off the path.
Through the crevice between speed and sound,
the sidewalk spills its guts to mere passerby,
but no one is listening.
Meanwhile…
In the forest, away from the smoke, wolves
prowl on velveteen paws, callused in places
from their thorny excursions of joy and woe.
In between the trees and traversing
across a soil carpet grown from
the despairs of anonymous death,
the wolf is content to run with the storm,
until once again,
the dawn is born.
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