The South

The winds howl.
The windows shudder.
The shutters rattle
and the rattles, left out
by absent-minded marms
roll about, pushed by drafts.
It is safe here
inside
while the world beyond these walls
appears barren
blistered by a preponderance
of nothing.
Danger lurks outside.
Something howls.

The door is locked
and you are protected inside
with gates high and locks thick
and furs heavy and warm
and nothing will get to you
and this will not stand.

This enclosure
is not enough for the day
or for the hour.
You will not allow it
for too long.
The wolves are out tonight
with their evil eyes
and dripping mouths
but you are nobody’s victim.
You will go
to meet them.

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