When the old man rubbed my back with bear fat I dreamed the winter horses had eaten the bark off trees and the tails of one another. I slept a hole into my own hunger that once ate lard and bread from a skillet seasoned with salt. Fat was the light I saw through the eyes of the bear three bony dogs leading men into the grass-lined cave of sleep to kill hunger as it slept itself thin. They grew fat with the swallowed grease. They ate even the woodashes after the fire died and when they slept, did they remember back to when they were wolves? I am afraid of the future as if I am the bear turned in the stomach of needy men or the wolf become a dog that will turn against itself remembering what wildness was before the crack of a gun, before the men tried to kM it or tame it or tried to make it love them.