What's his likeness amongst the north/south divide, amongst the
shifting winter light at high noon?
What's his call in the ghost of his likeness? When is the full moon
full? When will the warmth of his paw be a blessing,
his eyes friendly, his look the look of a god?
When will the wild forever be wild in the high rough, in the fallen
bark, in the scrub grass? How far
will he see from afar in the snow haze? How far?
Copyright © 2014 by Gerard Malanga. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on March 10, 2014. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.