If we Could Speak Like Wolves

by Kim Moore


If we Could Speak Like Wolves

If I could wait for weeks for the slightest change

in you, then each day hurt you in a dozen

different ways, bite heart-shaped chunks

of flesh from your thighs to test if you flinch

or if you could be trusted to endure,

 

if I could rub my scent along your shins to make

you mine, if a mistake could be followed

by instant retribution and end with you

rolling over to expose the stubble and grace

of your throat, if it could be forgotten

 

the moment the wind changed, if my eyes

could sharpen to yellow, if we journeyed

each night for miles, taking it in turns

to lead, if we could know by smell

what we are born to, if before we met

 

we sent our lonely howls across the estuary

where in the fading light wader birds stiffen

and take to the air, then we could agree

a role for each of us, more complicated

than alpha, more simple than marriage. 

© Kim Moore