Sugar

The snow a deep sugar up to the knots that watch the low lying

Past he straps the rapid rhythm and pulls his lip a black tire

Rubber black and lopes through the cynic contrast the cynic contrast

The sky knows too well it’s the same as the ground and the wind

Sings so high that it’s crying with the untrimmed hair

His paws his paws soft to jump to his teeth

Something like a centrifuge left to die and become the mountains

And so white it makes the aspens colder and colder

The    grey    wolf sleeping half like a dead one and more like

Just lying there

A stuck one with an open belly an open belly that’s filled

It’s so        quiet

The barrel swimming in water and dusky red leftovers

Hanging open from the legs

He’s done

The 16 or 32 wheels flat

Moping over and over the trees     till his bed is found and

He can roll back and forth

Grey over blue over the white

The first one finds him not an ounce of surprise in his face

And too quickly does he step on the head

Not even a torn muscle for the hopper the runner the fortunate

Roaring like a butcher knife through the steel and the steel too hot

Find the corpse melting into surprise and

For and for to the left to find his den

Back to the sonnet step