The Lycanthrope

I look human.

I am not human.



She lived on the edge of the ice,

Like water running too fast to freeze;

She had long smoky hair--

Something heavy within her was always burning.

She had come back to the stony earth to die;

She was every element.

She had nothing.

She contained everything.

So, when the crow

(I know well)

Came to collect her soul like so much carrion,

I was waiting in concealment.



The world seems to die in winter.

It does not die.



I came down across the snow,

Quickly, like passion from a perfect touch--

And I almost caught that crow.

He lost feathers, and several heart beats,

Before flying away, a disturbing dream upon waking,

Hardly even real.

I lay down beside the dead gypsy.

I said,

Why did we not take each other in, like air, like restless spirits?

Why did we not carry each other like currents, like blackberries in cupped hands?

Why did we not bury each other, away from dull eyes, wrapped together like sticks with the same skin?

Why are you so still?

Why do the shadows slowly move across us anyway, indolent and indifferent?



I love, though I hate love.

I am human.

__________