By Phibby Venable
A wolf runs through my mind.
I wake up to a compliant dream
on the nightstand,
the moon in my eyes,
an accumulation of pennies and dimes,
a restless spider with worn webbing.
A wolf is living in my small understanding,
loose boned and loping
higher up to howl.
It is a cautious summer.
Outside is a blue speckled coffee pot,
the bottom blackened by fire,
a tsunami fog blending in the sky,
rainbow trout leaping up to rival the sun.
A stump split by lightning serving as chair.
We make our own temples.
We conjure our own syllables until we are known by them.
I shake my head in the air.
A half dozen scents, a parade of flowers.
A vulnerable wind passing somewhere near.
Category: Featured, Poetry