The Eyes of Heaven watch me walk
across the virgin snow,
impassively marking
my passing
I see the winter wolves in
my periphery, gathering
in curious, carnivorous lust
for blood and meat to slake
their killing urge
The blade of my knife is
cold
against my thigh
The weight of my sword
gives me
balance
in the
high, white drifts
And the
Eyes of Heaven
glimmer with memories
of other travelers
who’ve traversed these
rugged rocks
Some to their hearths,
Some to their gods,
And it is all one
to the
Eyes of Heaven
And I stop,
feeling the chill night wind
in the thick fur
of my hood,
in the scruff of my
wild whiskers,
and look back into the Eyes of Heaven
And long to be
loved,
But
they are
as blind to me
as they are
infinite
And the Eyes of Heaven
close
to dream
and
remember
ages past,
and
unsoiled
virgin snow.
Beyond Panic 