Vesper Wolves

Vesper Wolves (from a dream)

by Ray Bonnell

What is sleep

But the hunting ground of the mind

Where the subconscious winnows the herd

And vesper wolves haunt my dreams.

Chest-high to a standing man

With lean, sinewy legs created for the chase,

They tirelessly pad along

scanning the dreamlands for unwary prey.

They have no want for frenzied speed.

Once the chase is begun

There is only relentless pursuit

Until the pack drags its exhausted quarry to ground.

I saw them but once, as we stood in a shallow, wooded draw.

The panicked megaloceros swept through first,

And then, along the ridge top, vesper wolves loped by,

Freezing our hearts in terror.

These lithe, Paleolithic predators,

They hunt my prehistoric dreams,

Stealthily encircling me at evening vespers

And stealing into my sleep unawares.

The weak dreams, the ordinary dreams

Have not the slightest chance.

They are torn to pieces before the dawn, and

Only the strong escape to reach my waking mind.

So, as I slip off into the dreamlands,

My blood races and the chase begins.

I anxiously await the end of night

When the survivors and I will celebrate the dawn.

Copyright 2007 Ray Bonnell