We reached what appeared as a mountaintop,
Chased by wolves who chased each other.
We spoke red words, like Christ,
Peasant blood staining our fangs.
We were the first to the summit,
The Vanguard Pack.
From our heights fenced fields below seemed commons,
Their bent spines indistinct.
A woman among us,
(obsidian eyed and full of mute clay)
Was the first to see that she saw.
The men were looking down around them,
The way they’d come.
She looked over the tilted side,
Into a glacial pool where the white peak turned black.
“We must descend and begin again.”
A proclamation brutal in its simplicity.
We had lost the memory that we were not wolves.
We had neglected our nature, as that yet to come.
This beginning will not be familiar,
But we will recognize the pull which keeps pulling us
Into each other,
And into fresh water.