The brisk cold is bone-shattering, flesh
shivering as I walk along the Wasatch Front
between the Rocky Mountains and the Great Salt Lake.
The stars above sparkle and glisten, frozen
in time and space, some long dead,
their light still in the heavens.
I am in the city, filled with street lamps,
traffic signals, office building lights and signs,
home fires. Several miles away in mountain canyons,
forests climb the slopes and harbor the wild.
The wild. The call of the wild. Wild savage hearts
pounding and racing fiercely; paws flying through the
snow; rushing to fill bellies of mate and young.
The heart that is intent, loyal, strong and true
belongs to the wolf…a lone wolf on the hunt. The pack
has moved on; low valleys filled with prey fills
their noses with the scent of raw-flesh meals.
Hunger of the belly-kind draws them on
in frantic search, to hunt, to kill, to feed.
While hunger of the heart keeps the lone wolf
close by to den, to mate, to their young.
In this city by a great inland sea, atop spires pointing
toward twinkling stars, standing watch is an Angel.
Angel of light, Angel of peace. Angel of compassion.
Angel of mercy; yet an Angel standing for justice.
A lonely walker in the city street, with an ear
and a heart for the wild and its beckoning call…
I turn my eyes up toward the skies, and view
the Angel descending from heaven.
“Come to me”, says she.
I will warm you from the cold.
I will fill your eyes with light.
I will fill your senses with all that
is tranquil and pleasurable,
yet savage, primitive and wild.
Let me fly close to the ground.
Catch me, hold me, embrace me, run with me
Into the mountains, the forests, the canyons;
along streams and lakes, waterfalls and ponds.
Run into the wild, side by side, into the night.