WOLF

I was reciting my

poem to myself

when the wolf came

not big and

bad but

distinctly Lawrencian

with blazing eyes

and powerful, heady scent,

which I tried to

let go of, keep myself

on track, not

let

wolf infiltrate

keep myself clean of

an animal smell

and here I was

behaving like a character,

an Englishman, straight

out of Lawrence

I waited for

now

the words to

recite had

long run out

whether it would strike

or just brush by

I searched

in poem

for how

it would, should end.