by Ethel Mortenson Davis
March
and new snow
last night.
Black dog
on white,
two miles
into the woods,
and we see
timber wolf tracks.
Then sister wolf
flashes past us,
a great roaring ball
of white and gray
whose size
dwarfs you,
dog.
But we are
not afraid.
Just in awe.
To see a glimpse
of you
is like a gift,
like an eagle
taking off
into the air,
and we are lifted up.
I see a surprise
smile on your face.
fourwindowspress 