The Wolfhound Poem by Michael Galvin

The president
leads his gawky satellite
in autumn leaf,
and when her orbit
comes around
the brighter suns fire cherishes
eclipse my restlessness with trust.

Their flame-light
probes awakening;
can this weak faith collude
against those eyes?

I laugh,

perishing,

pierced,

answered,

forgiven.

When she runs
her power's easy,
brutal grace,
and a love and pride
die in me,

so this mute thing is born anew
- even before she nuzzles my hand -

flame-warm in blood
her gaze first drew, to rebuke all doubt
I was one of hers.