Elsewhere, a Wolf

A ghost calls, but you do not answer—
that way, you know, lies madness
and sorrow, the soul-split
of both desire and heartache,
a fire made more of damnation
than warmth, and it is buried,
finally, in overdue earth,
salted and left alone—
those bones
were never good
to begin with.

And, somewhere, a crow sings,
teal-bright feathers gleaming,
beautiful in its darkness,
its spinning melody
holding new secrets—
and yes, everything worthwhile
is dangerous,
and here, this apple,
and there, this path,
and then—
everything changes,
now what?

These things you leave behind
are not breadcrumbs; no one
is coming to find you,
and you do not need saving—
but you have been cursed before,
asleep to dream awake,
here but only a shadow
of yourself,
and never again that,
never again less,
from here on,
more rose than thorn.

Elsewhere, a wolf howls,
and your heart feels like the moon,
but you do not trust it,
because there’s too much worry
in the waning,
and yet, here you are,
in this forest of nowhere,
stock-still and stubborn,
lost, and yet
content to wander
where others dare not go.