Wapun Meadow There's ice in my water,

fine chocolated grace;
gin poured into a godiva shell;
merrick hunted the wolf with his single eye. there was no familiarity in him;
his jaws tightened with anticipation and the bearwolf moved into the snowbound meadow.
black feathers, unfurling, rushing; she with him;
merrick slid into a headlong run bent upon murder;
and the single eye burned with an eldritch unseeing.