Wolf House In Ruins-For Jack London

We came to your home Jack Hidden amongst bosom hills and armies of trees past the State gates who finally admitted us entry to your tomb they keep you here Jack in memory, first editions your wife spent years here alone, your phantom haunting the halls the woods her memory she built this place like the Egyptians of old dragging each mental stone one upon the other cranium slave labor of awe fear love a physical testament to your published achievements and emotional fingerprint you left your mark everywhere Jack Hawaii where you danced the headhunter dance of primitive times donned your outfit and howled to the new moon of inspiration Jack you and wife traveled the oceans just like your novels your life ebbing and alive still in these pages of Calling and White you observed life and the universe and without hesitation you recorded it for us Christopher Columbus Sir Francis Drake of reality fiction But reality has a way of finding even the largest child as we hide from it or ignore it before its to late it found you after your Wolf House burned and the booze burned you for far too long you slept the final sleep on the porch of inspiration like a babe you returned now we see the ruins of the Wolf House and your grave your ashes beneath the stone next to your wife across from the two children's markers the birds crying as we all do for you Jack