The land is a moth...

icicles...my underbelly clings to my spine,

frozen from lack of meat...

...my stomach churns: time to eat...

saliva drips from the edges of my snout

...I catch the scent of a hare nearby...

the game begins...

he stops, ears perked,...

--I crouch down--angling the attack

the hare runs for safety,

bounding thiswayandthat...

darting leftandright,

backandforth,

the hunt continues...

chalky fog covers my face...

...always one step behind...

I bore my paws deep

into the slushy earth as

the kill vanishes into a tear in the blanket of white...

it is snowing again

the wind is changing...

snow clings to my fur,

my breath lingers like smoke...

I beckon the moon; begging wisdom from old ones...

great hunters before me...

I am no leader today...

I cannot kill...no, today I cannot kill...

I plod to my den alone and curl in the damp,

dark, burrow I've made...

a faint voice inside me whispers....

the voices of the old ones, in concert,

speaks to me and quiets my mind......

...sometimes I'm by myself,

but I'm never alone...