First raise your head and loose a raucous howl.
Don't try to explain, don’t stare at the alpha.
Spread your arms like barred-owl wings and breathe
the musk. Recite Isaiah chapter forty-three:
“Forget the former things.” Forget the gods.
Grieve the creatures’ winter mange, the raw
abraded flesh, the festered wounds, the fleas.
And when they circle, snarl and bear their teeth,
and reveal their ulcered gums and stinking breath,
when you fear the big one going for your neck,
concede—like you would to a heart attack or a kiss
Don’t flee. Recall that fear provoked this myth—
that the land is yours. Don’t call friend Steve with his
lust for guns and predators’ blood. Sing hymns!