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Legend

This is what it was like: woods full of children,
thickets and pockets for them to climb into and hide,
tired of victim, assassin, tired of leaving their
breadcrumbs behind like parts of their lives,
a hand, a thigh, some feelings disgorged—limbs,
emotions, stud the broken path like ghosts
and the children wander as if from the sea,
the ancient mist, mythic, deepens and whitens
around them until each one stands in front of a man
with the mouth of a wolf, he calls to them, traps them;
their world (you must understand) rips and tears
like his flesh, as they wheel each time into safety,
his bottomless belly, he drags them into his forest
grove, they always go, willing.