Crawling Wound from Woods

I heard a bird

cry like a wounded dog-

feathered haunches circling

the wolf's mouth

howling a mimic's beak,

and I wondered

if it saved him.

When it comes for me,

crouching teeth,

eyes lunging shape

of running veins,

my heart's secret throat,

so carefully hidden,

dragging jaw clenched stealth

past panting fingers

hanging out tasting

my blood on wind,

my tongue eating

into dark earth making

a quiet nest of death

waiting to live

until hands uncover what is hidden,

I have one voice-

my wounding will not die,

a child's strange cry

calls nearby birds

that fly away.