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I raise my voice
for the boy raised on wolfspeak
and to cut my teeth
to the sharp point of a widows peak
The black river flow
and the poison traps to lure us in
put two sticks to each other
dare best the cold

I raise my view
the smoke signal where my city used to be
I would sing extinction songs
such visions of things once seen
every boreal kingdom
every woven thread to the wrist
tread cherished land
constant swathes of antlers grace my path

Stalk while my weakness staves
God, bless me, I'm young
when we howl it sounds like rage
your howl sounds like rage

Wolves in Northern Alberta have been poisoned and shot in order to preserve Caribou populations which have been dwindling due to the loss of habitat as a direct result of tar sands development. A literal million was spent to balance an innocent symptom, yet fully ignored the cause of the problem. I feel a great solidarity with the wolf. Even that a song could cause as much change as a howl at the moon. Even in the futility of protest, the joy to raise one’s voice in anger.


from Stay Cold, released September 20, 2012



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