Hunger

Wolf that I was,
I had no names

for the different shades
of hunger—the green

ache of one versus
the pink pang of another,

the sharper edges
versus the softer.

All I knew was need,
the opening of

possibility, a way
to be full. Belly-down

in the field, I watched
this new hunger with

my predator’s eye—
the way it rippled

like rain showers
around the grass,

the way it sprang
to the sky, dragging

its colors behind it.
Wolf that I was,

I watched it like
prey, but it wasn’t.