The Day The Wolves Came

We waited for the wolves like rainfall
we met them on all fours, appearing
savage and whimsical, appearing
constructed, supplicated and unafraid,
watching their methodical prowl
observing their wanting eyes and
glistening teeth a convex function,
they are feeding on us like moths,
it is feeding time in the porch lamp,
mangled wings and legs splayed against
the artificial light of home, what was it
they wanted, what was it we prayed
not to happen to us, their paws traveling
onward now, onward towards fucking
in the debris, onward to horned animals
and quantum fields riddled with cricket’s
mouths and jingle dancing ants, onward
towards a girl standing with her back to
the woods until she hears the sound of
something coming, onward to her running
towards away in the dark, onward to fresh
ears of corn listening for the end of a
decision tree, onward to where the air is
still ringing with the sound of coming,
onward to the hand of a child
holding out
for
a piece of meat