( That same night I drag the sacrificial crackodile out of the shallow radiant muck. It’s hell to move, and by the time I have its cumbersome bloated body rolled every nerve fiber of mine is burning.

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Right outside the west gate is where I bury both the white-bellied beast and bones without a name, saying the only prayer I’ve ever known, which I only ever heard once and not so clearly at my mom’s funeral.     Humanmother, not Wolfmother mind you.

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I hope they will forgive me my mangled words.

Maybe it’s not the words that matter anyway but

 the way we speak them? )