, , , , ,

wolfThere I was standing
next to a broke-down car,
stranded in the desert.

The person I was with said,
what are those polaroids of
in the back seat? as if
that was the most pressing question to ask.

I looked through the window
and saw a mess of photos
strewn across the seat,
so I opened the door and gathered them up.

I flipped through them quickly.
They were practically all the same:
they were photos of a wolf striking various poses.

I recognized the wolf.
They were pictures of me.

In the next instant
I was turning in a circle.
I saw yellow sand
and saguaro trees and pale open sky,
a spinning universe to roam,

though now I stood on a raised platform,
and for the first time I realized
I was inside a cage, a cage made of glass.