When the old man rubbed my back
with bear fat
I dreamed the winter horses
had eaten the bark off trees
and the tails of one another.
I slept a hole into my own hunger
that once ate lard and bread
from a skillet seasoned with salt.
Fat was the light
I saw through
the eyes of the bear
three bony dogs leading men
into the grass-lined cave of sleep
to kill hunger
as it slept itself thin.
They grew fat
with the swallowed grease.
They ate even the wood-ashes
after the died
and when they slept,
did they remember back
to when they were wolves?
I am afraid of the future
as if I am the bear
turned in the stomach
or the wolf become a dog
that will turn against itself
remembering what wildness was
before the crack of a gun,
before the men tried to kill it
or tame it
or tried to make it love them.