S U M M E R T I M E / S U P P E R T I M E

S U M M E R T I M E /

S U P P E R T I M E

Nail holes punched in a
smithy’s pewter sky.
The eveling wolv
raise their voice
to the sky, crying,
“Bring down the rains of Heaven
the sweet summer rain
the heavenly rain
that stings our fur and teeth
and the damp earth
beneath our hands and feet.”

And the houses in the hills,
yellow glow fading,
as hearth cools in the midnight.

The wolven shadows
slip through the trees,
across a field,
to the door and windows.
Snarling, gnawing, growling,
ravening at the windows and door.
Then through,
to the cupboards,
on the table,
to the silent, childed beds
the Ma & Pa kerchief
thrown to the floor.

Then the wolvy band
stand still,
muzzles glisteng
in the pin-prick night-light.
Heads lowered,
yellow eyes leering,
they smile at each other
and blackslide through the forest.

Keith Anderson