of wolves and fury.

I am wary of contentment.

a cloaked black wolf from the dream

her feet tough and dirty

from miles and miles of running

through swamps to arrogant mountain tops

back again, through the fire

that she started

I am wary of confinement.

speak softly and choose your words

before you touch my head,

prove me wrong

give me your air and open the door

stroke the tender vestiges of unfurling

hidden behind my teeth

I am suspicious, but not afraid.

© 7.31.2015 heather brager

high water mark.

would he recognize her

passing by

on the street

a blurred apparition in

his peripheral vision

a negative of the quiet

remaining memories

she is no longer captive

beneath his ribcage

remnants of her hair

her poetry

and her smell

washed away

by another trip

to the sea

© 7.29.2015 heather brager