Chosen Masks

Spirit Wolf
11"x 13" mixed media art on paper


I stumble through the Garden
in winter
searching for a father
who had set off on the course of Alchemy

I am the Fool seeking him,
a young wolf in Twilight,
hearing enemies howling,
scavengers waiting for my last breath

Through the snow, I spy a castle,
an enchanted abode of stone and glass,
with hieroglyphics inscribed along the Path

I shiver before the great manse
too proud to ask for Sanctuary;
A wolf walks alone, he used to say,
though he never showed me how

I take one step forward
and falter over the gnarled roots
of a massive Oak;
I fall on dark cobblestones
and find my father's notebook
mere feet from my nose

As I stare at it,
I know I will never find him,
His scent in this place
is layered with his death

He is gone
and I am alone
with this notebook,
all that's left of my father,
the damnable words
he cared for more than I

The Crone appears beside me,
leaning heavily on her cane
"You've lingered here too long,"
she says.

And at her words,
I realize I've played
at being a wolf
only because
my father was too blind
to see my wings.