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.