Nature Is My Warmth

I think I dream.

Six sandhill cranes, over my bed,

Soar.

On my right, a wolf sleeps –

         On my left, a fox.

Before I drifted into sleep, I was alone

Though not

Lonely.

But I was cold, not warm.

Now I’m warm, and not

Alone.

The wolf and fox are not enemies to

Each other, as I always

Thought

Neither am I the enemy of either of them.

*

I must sleep in the woods. I can hear

Light rain, but I don’t feel it.

Though it’s cold, and I am

Warm,

I did not try to build a fire as London did

In his story.

Once, long ago, I learned how, but have never

Had to use that knowledge.

Would I have

Succeeded?

Maybe the wolf and fox

Know.

I’m sure they know plenty I do not

They have to.

*

I hear the cranes call.

To each other?

To me?

To the fox and wolf?

The Universe?

The stars appear; Moon rises.

*

The Sky is my ceiling. Nature is my warmth.

*

I think I dream.

*