Ankyra Sound five twenty six, nineteen ninety.

it's a small world,
until you're alone with your thoughts.
he sets his sights among the stars
and wonders if they lead
the same lonely lives
as the wolves that worship them
fizzling in and out of blackness
before collapsing in on themselves
or if they're lucky
smashed to bits
by an oblivion
too immense to name.

he's jolted from daydreaming
by coyote-scent.
his eyes barely adjusted
to the sequoia's darkness.
hey, little girl?
his voice intrudes
on the bare bone trees
and the impassive cold.
creepy girl, you there?