Preparations
By Terra Wolfe
I cannot be cool
as these chilly winds
roll purple over the hills.
I must race
the winter
through
brown grasses,
gather dry things
to fill the corners
of my nest.
It is not
good sense
that brings me
to these places.
It is a force
as old
as warm blood.
The she-wolf
knows my need
the lioness
the vixen.
I am no lizard
to procreate
and wander off.
Mine is the den
Furry warmth
huddled in the night.
And so I gather
soft things
about me.
And go to the places
where the men strut
to attract a mate.
Copyright Terra Wolfe 2006