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.”
