It was on Faraday Street that
Fox and Wolf came to me.
They could see the fearful way my feet
trod the steps towards school where
ideas buzzed about in the forest of
unbroken voices,
ignorance stinging my mind
as if the beaks of springtime woodpecker
sought blind answers..
In the years since
both have been treated harshly,
painted as miscreants
who lead me asunder.
Truth is, Fox and Wolf understood
my dilemma,
pulled me out
of the maelstrom of school,
took me to the island
where it was said a cure might be found.
Man-time scared me, the swift urgent
current
of action, of movement, more terrifying
than lightning; life in flesh resembles
a forest fire. The ability of legs, in
recompense,
seems miserly.
The Island was a deceit
but Wolf and Fox
were always kind while around me
the world spun out of kilter.
In the craziness of those Island days
I lost contact with them both -
it is an easy thing for me to do,
forced as I am to pinpoint everything down
to single moments laid side by side by
side.
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