The Wolf

The Wolf

Something about it hums with life
Encased in cut glass and concrete
I half expect to see it breathing
Life-like perfection, it howls to a ceiling covered moon
Beauty in shards
I wait until it bites at me
Snarls and raises its hackles
Draws back its ears and becomes real
Not just the sculpture I see
But the wolf I can feel
I stand before it
Eyes piercing layers of reality
I can see it shake and tremble
"Come alive" I whisper
Half afraid it will
Half taunting it to obey
When I reach a timid finger forward
To caress its broken coat
My head flutters
Still swooning
I make my way counterclockwise
Reeling from whatever hold it has on me
That let's me see past what is being seen
Am I challenging it to be awake?
Or am I affirming the common belief
That while art can breathe
It cannot come alive.

-Ella Hastings