In this rattling truck,
I am seventeen years young.

I wander
with these blackened eyes
(that match the sky),
with this mangy fur
(ruffled like ancient clouds in the polluted night).

I am a dream that breathes.
And I breathe
heavily.
my wolfbreath mixes with the wind,
who agrees to take all in.
I touch the air with my snout,
feel the world rush by.
there are signs on the breeze
that sweeps true through the trees.
she guides my naked feet.

I follow old logging roads covered in dust,
sniffing scents of those long dead,
animal ancestors and ancient men.

I turn to the heavens,
fractured by light,
and stare with my bottomless eyes.
The moon sticks in the wolf-eye-black sky,
letting her light
slip through clouds and fur,
to rub my pale, hidden skin,
whiter than bone, brighter than sun.

The star-light battles in the night,
calling for war, calling for love.
The truest calls for home.
But the only home I could know,
is a cold breeze guiding my feet,
slipping through my knees.

Still, I often long
to shake my fur dry,
lie like a dog by the fire.
But, I’m too wild.
though my heart is soft,
it’s in my nature to hurt.
I’m filled with fire and heat;
sometimes coldness surrounds me,
other times it slips out my sharp teeth.

How I cherished
that last burst of light at dawn,
knowing it would all soon be gone.
though I longed for day to go,
I wanted it to happen sweeter and slow.

Under the sunset, under the stars,
there is no truer me.
I seem so tired and strong.
seventeen years young.
What a strange, searching age,
with my wolfeyes, full and wide.