I spend my life preparing for
what i now know will not happen.
It's cool. The rains arrive. The snow.
Outside i see, padding by, the wolf.
White prints track white ground.
Howls that echo across town.
I chase the wolf
on my ten-speed bike, hurtling
across the Williamsburg Bridge,
to the ends of the earth,
where the waters meet,
demanding answers, when he turns
and offers: man, my head i bite off
and gift to you but you will
find with it no solace, no
peace, no piece you can prize or
take with you and at the end lies