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WOLF CAME TO ME, ONCE

WOLF CAME TO ME, ONCE

Wolf came to me, once.

I thought about Faust.

“My perception creates my forest,”

said my guest. “My night and the moon.

What I look at doesn’t matter,

but how I look at it does.”

“I am not going to kill you,”

I spoke.

“How can I trust you?”

“I am a man of my word.”

“Are you a poet?” Wolf stood near me.

“Who dominates on today’s world of poetry?”

“Poetry does not dominate; it cultivates,” I hear in my mind and wolf said:

“Today’s world is a world of mysteries, you better run.”

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