Your nimble fingers harvest

Music from the wind, like a

Myna birds throaty affectations.

At times you seem bound, not

For highways, but the hallways

Of a pythonic egoism.


The swagger of your jagged

Grin slices open my heart as

If a Reaper’s sickle, I pour

Into you like moonlight cool

And metaphysical, you extract

Me silver from a tremulous

Sensorium and in the night,

Like coyotes, we pursue a

Love that is unspeakable


My limbs hum the violence

Of a precarious rapture, each

In our own fashion a train

Advancing to some immutable

End. In your vaulted heart the

City craves the consummation

Of a histrionic impetus to fame


In my heart the prairie, the

Swirling momentum of a

Beatnik dance, the slow sultry

Pulse of a life not hemmed in

By glossy-paged conventions


I am the Halcyon and you the

Phoenix, if we are destroyed

Only you will rise, so depart

With the sun, sing only and

Never speak of us again


Submission for

The Sunday Whirl


12 thoughts on “Coyote Song

  1. harvest music from the wind…really great opening to this…the swagger of the jagged grin…you are full of great lines….in my heart the prairie…that close too…only them rising never speak of us again….seriously a wicked good piece…i like much…

  2. Fantastic composition! The heart you slice is mine, the reader, with your ‘moonlight cool’ and ‘unspeakable’ love. Great stuff there. Who knew they coyote sang such ‘tremulous’ songs. Why you of course.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s