In a public park, fringed by wilderness.

No marker there, no sense of what occupied space—
the invisible drift that caused my heart to break.

Two dogs, both wolves, rush and jangle as they race.

Dogs run with mouths open, growl in raucous, ferocious merriment.

Ancestral wolves push through the dogs' domestic faces.

Dark waters, wet leaves, O strange and shifting place,
where what's done can never be undone—

The natural law is wearing winter's face.

O strange and shifting race, with mouths open, two dogs,
no, two wolves run toward me, and still nothing marks the place—

--Regan Good