THE CENTER

Branches,
brittle and bare,
and the night, cold,
prints, solitary,
left upon a
seamless snow,

and in the night,
a light still burns
when the sun left
and moonlight
returned,

nothing to nourish
but a fight still lives,
amazing is a strength
only hope can give,
and
there, below the crest,
nature at its best
when the line is blurred,
wolves on the outskirts,
calfs, in the center
of the herd.