Nothing like him had been born before.
They named him Wolf, for his speed.
He squats outside the cave
In the long-light place,
On a rock a bird,
Small bird, singing.
And he, poking out his lips
Makes sounds that only birds make.
They watch from the cave.
They do not like what they see.
They fear what they hear,
Bird sounds from the throat of their Wolf.
They should have snapped his neck at birth.
A bird drops from the rock,
Hops singing at his feet.
Another! He is calling the birds.
One who watches, his elder
Who envies his speed, his skills,
Leaps forward, snatches a bird in either fist,
And the space whirls with feathers, drops of blood.
Wolf rises, turns, faces them-hates.
He jumps up the cliff
to
a place above the cave.
One shouts, "Never go alone.
Never far from spear or axe."
In reply a sweet long whistle.
From there, over their heads,
He is calling
to
his birds.
He is alone. They never go alone.
At this time of the long light
Light always is, dark never comes.
They can see how the wolf pack comes,
Loping slow then fast.
They can see but Wolf cannot.
