running wolf scans the white horizon
no one there
something is wrong
she runs.
there between snow whites and
whispered blues
a heaping of human flesh
appears
curled in on itself
neither being born nor dying.
she smells the perimeter, hangs
open her mouth, breathing in
the familiarity of spirit
and at once
licks at what is wounded.
she will stand vigil for
however long it takes
until she dances
once again.
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photo credit by Sandi, on Flickr
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