15 February 2010 | Vol. 9, No. 4

Woods Shock

by BRENNEN WYSONG

The wind in the beginning

meant the crying

inside the blackened lanterns

could carry a rare measure of music.

But midway

into the forest, we already heard

the stolen horses

whinnying within the ending.

The forest, of course,

was a story. The horses,

of course, slant rhymed

with loaves

because the horses were really wolves.

Yes, it was a clever disguise,

the way the riddle—or at least a way to solve

it—could be hidden

within the bread.

There were also birds

within the loaves,

love among the wolves' guts,

salve inside them

when someone guessed the riddle wrong.

We broke open the bread,

listening to the body within it.

And the body cried,

Please, burn me in effigy.

But there were still other animals

rusting within the forest:

Sparrows nested

within the flared bells

of three flugel horns.

Wolves wore sheep's wool

woven brightly on a small loom.

The sparrows chirped

warp and weft while the wolves'

woof echoed through the forest.

Beautiful nudes

asleep by a stream snatched wildly

at their hair. Dreaming of fire,

the flames contained a song

released from their heat when doused

down to cinders with milk.

It was the same fire

that once inhabited the lanterns,

a brute choir unleashed

among the trees. Can you

hear it now? Listen to

the whinnying. Listen to the sad,

sad wind breathing within it.