Wolf at the Gate

You came to me like an oil slick:
wrapped in rainbow, toxic, diamond
the kind found in blood mines
how you sparkled on my ring.

I thought you my crown, a helm
of adamant and shimmering moon
adornment of a lonely girl, one
who thirsts after belonging.

But I was neck deep in venom
and like an anglerfish, your shine
was the Nachash, Bright Enchanter –
my ancestor quivered in your spine.

For what is the First Woman? Rib
ruin, rumination, rudimentary
bones of curiosity, left to be
salvaged by Eden’s wolves.

It was only when you were picking
my organs clean, carrion vulture
in my brain, that I realized the glow
of your eyes was a predator’s.

There’s a Wolf at the Gate, God.
Why did you let him in?
Why did you let him feast
on a coal mine canary?

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