A-se-quu-i tsi-s-qua

Eyes of grey wolf
follow the dull scraping
of a slow cellar door,
haunting a decrepit stair.

Piles of harvest leaves
from a dying orchard rustle
as silent headstones mark
time in death's consecration.

Time bestirs its dark cranny as
a sudden quivering overtakes
his carnal native wisdom .
Faintly , he hears an elder chant;
"Waya, `ga no `lv `sga u yv tlv'.

In Harmony his spirit sings,
'This bone yard be no friend
of coyotes and old hounds,
specially old shapeshifting
drifters like us..."

So dark eyes drift toward the
stars blessing stellar emanations
and red loam of mortality
soars upon winds of eagles..