to meet the wolves who are hunting
on the other shore. You can’t see
this wayward part of you
like you see your breath in winter,
but you feel the bite of canine teeth
as if you now live
in the throat of a panicked deer.
You’ve never understood before
what beauty means, how it
blasts the blood and leaves you
shaken, demanding more
than you can ever,
in this human body, be.