The wild inside me
lives on the edge
of the stream
where gnarly roots and bracken
dip their toes
in the water.

I follow
my shaggy wolf heart
down
to the rocky crevices
that run
with the mountain’s medicine.

Black fox feet,
all muscle and movement,
awakening to the call
of the poetry
that beats in my belly.

Down here
there is no time
but the present.
And the arrows
that show the way
are drawn with twigs.

The rushing brushing music
of the waterfall
carries my thoughts
to another lifetime,
when I was always
in this:
fully immersed
in the cradle
of life, death and rebirth;
cycling its deep meaning
into my bones.