WOLVES LOVE AN ABSENCE


the delicate morse /
inside a throat

hammers / its flesh
against flesh

muted pads

thrum / through the black

tombstones
of wet cedars

a body / runs
from a hunter /

mouth and eyes wide
 
its heart’s / wet suck
               like a rag

wrung tight and dripping

its pulse / sings
                in its throat /
                indelicately

because it cannot stop

its radio-wave
call / to tear away
the ground /

the earth’s chest
groans
               a paw
 
pushes through / soil

and the void /
a body / once filled

becomes
a cross- / hatch
                of limbs