Tuesday, December 6, 2011


the moon is dust on the hills,
a bath of pale skin

there is howling along the ridges,
coyotes frozen to their breaths,

melodies drifting north
over the sleeping mute

i'm no fool, i hear them
in my sleep before they can

press their yellow eyes
against my window

they are in the yard tonight,
filling the shadows with wilderness

No comments:

Post a Comment