January 20, 2016 § Leave a comment
She is deep dense fog in an old city’s night, the truth seen only in patches, glimpses. She conceals herself in gray formality, sliver of a fine-edged blade cloaked in the wet soft rolling of city-mist. Hides, too, the keen fragility of forging and reforging to such a long thin point, the careful brittleness within.
There is fragility in the heart-hungry wolf that stalks the edges of things, too: shadow-eyes burning with the blood-warm fever of life despite razor-lines of bones, ragged fur, stripped-down muscle. A fragility and a strength despite harsh conditions and so there is a challenge in the heated gaze seen through the fog: Try me, battle me, win my submission if you dare, if you can –
And the challenge is a plea, as pride and wanting clash within. Seeking to be seen, truly – and fearing the naked vulnerability. Seeking to touch, truly, or be touched – and fighting it, for what if someone feels the fragility in the touching? Safety in the pack alone and how many indeed are left?
Fur and fragile steel and fog, the concentrated warmth of gas-lamps in the city night, the wildness of the urban jungle.