the world is coated in gold, tonight
it's holding its breath, see:
the earth has stopped moving
the fog lies heavy in its creaks
and the sun moves further away
once, a little girl went deep into the woods
with her heart between her teeth
and recklessness stitched onto her sleeves
(it's no wonder, see, the sharpness of her teeth:
she has a grandmother with a spine made of steel
a mother with a tongue made of silver
and a father with eyes made of starlight)
there's a wolf on the clearing, its tongue between its teeth, its eyes big and bright in the dawn
are you not afraid, child?
of his teeth and his claws
and the rot of his breath?
the flowers wilt between the ridges of his palms.
is he not a terror, with his eyes on you?
is he not a horror, with his teeth in your flesh?
and its blood is just blood, as warm as mine
- have I not teeth and claws enough to rip open a terror that has swallowed me whole?
has not the world started breathing again when a little girl stepped back onto it, its hood dripping red with a wolf's greed?
the sun has reached its furthest point, now
