Copyright © Isabella Dalzell 2019. All RIghts Reserved.



The mountain lake drips

streams like globs of mercury

down snow-dusted, fir- shaded,

razored valleys carved by ice

inching into limestone.


Trickling waters irrigate the

terraced slopes of homesteads,

and flood the alluvial plain

sweeping, pebbled and sandy into

the azure pond of the Mediterranean.


In that many-pinnacled landscape

a wolf sits, alone, and howls,

white-throated into the dark,

bilberry-blue of the sky

nose pointing at stellar sparks.


Moon glowing soft, yellow as butter

ears pricked tense and quivering

he listens for a reply

and sniffs the night scented air

for trace of alien pack.