Loving The Wilderness Poem by Mark Heathcote

Owing near nothing, everything to you,
it's my name, my landscape
evoking a grey mountain wolf
you step back from me with trepidation,
it's my heart beating, howling
containing galaxies of nomadic stars
that sends you hurtling like a water outlet
looking for foundations a place
to build your frozen stratospheric nest.
Where one day—I too will fly,
will get heaved, unable to soar,
hover, glide or even flutter,
before I plummet remnants of nothing at all
just sediment,
another feather plucked on the rise or fall.