they call out to me

like wolves from the woods

calling to their own-

calling them to come home.

I can feel the wild

I’m chasing it down stream

rushing past the riveting rivers

the warm and cool breeze

bouncing through my hair,

bracing my bare and broad shoulders.

This is what I call home

and where home calls to me.

My weathered soul

knows more about the wild

that runs ramped in my veins

than I’ve ever known

of any man at all.

I’m howling to the sky,

to the rivers below

I hear my calling now, and now

I must go.