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