There lay the grey wolf watching
bristling in the undergrowth
stretching over; a canopy in
the unpromising day.
It is enough to pray, I think
even when the bridge is out of sight
and arrows rain then
into the hush,
bearing stillness.
Now watch over this
nursery of martyrs.
Suffering in creation,
building to crumble.
And cruel,
inevitably, life-lines taper
awaiting
strangeness and the day
wolves tame.
When life ends,
Death ends also.
