Nighttime, only half as bright again with snow,
lies brittle up against the cabin wall.
The one inside is listening to his breathing grow
in fear, the one outside begins to crawl.
The snow continues and the life within
begins to feel the steady breathing at the door
and know the night has brought him to his kin
and takes his place of waiting on the floor.
The morning’s snow has forced the cabin door
ajar, the brittle glare dispels the dream.
One set of tracks alone, fast from the floor
rise, either coming, maybe going, Wolverine.
(c) All rights reserved. Quinn McDonald