A thousand, famished wolves appeared

shadowy and harmoniously careered.

Shifting wintry spray with their elemental gait,

reaping earth and divinity with unfathomable rate.

Their passing a vintage haunting, of granite wrath,

weighted with human dreams to tormented cords of path.

Deepest hollows, twisted and crucified with green and gold,

greet a carnal compass to direct the cold.

Scaly forms leap backwards into the fabric of dark,

as they sprint through pillars of infinite bark.

Trees quake, then shriek with love and awe,

then lay down, like woeful harlots, to the forest floor.

Howl as awakened the lambs of god and all the forlorn,

to run, with life, plucked from the stillness of morn.