Saturday, January 8, 2011

White Lake

In that space of snow
and endless blue days
there is what is still pure
and honest in the world,
an unmistakable clarity
in the dark wells where a coyote
stood to consider me

I heard him singing to his lover,
a song that still lingers in the cathedrals
and basalt cliffs if we stop for but a moment
to listen to our brothers

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