The Call of the Wild wildness hovers, fluttering wings on bounce, it is in the sun’s shadow— climbing tree limbs, chasing flickers, all grass turned toward joy, a melody spirals inside each root, taking its claim.

those silent cracks become lines of resistance, no regrets plucked from the air, just the heart’s echo, the pulse of the wild in all of its forms, flowers extending hands reaching toward that deep hum of dusk.

Anne Waldman

• Anne Waldman