21 January 2008

los lobos




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Los Lobos


As silent as the slow release of snow,
the forest draped heavy with the drift,
limbs freshly frocked and insulated
warmly in winter's fashioned lambswool,
beneath wood appendage swept low below
this filigreed fantasy of wet winter weight,
they step from the shadows into silver light
and are free to linger long enough to howl
at the swirling face of the fully lit moon,
and instinctively they pierce the night.

Small-eared, wide-muzzled, sharp-eyed,
white black gray cream roan-coated,
ceaseless hunter of the wildest beast,
kin to coyote jackal dingo loyal dog,
once free roamer of all the forests,
of mountains plains and snow country,
misunderstood magnificent creature
born of this untamed american landscape,
legend of terror fright and sly treachery
and of evil werewolfian nightmare fear.

To be hunted trapped and poisoned,
yours a difficult history filled with being
chased across this captured land
much like we treated all natives whom
we failed to understand or embrace,
and so, our freedom is lost as well.
Sadly, we have all but forgotten about
the bond that ties us to each other,
bold seekers of freedom one and all,
we are both the hunter and the hunted.




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