Sunday, December 25, 2011
Wild Things in the Night
The committee of roosters gathers
at my ankles, the night
drifts off like a loose horse.
In my ears the coyotes' laddered song
still lingers. Wild open throated.
A language not so strange
awakens the heart,
gleefully, from a simple dream.
I wake with the sun,
the field is empty.
I look down into the petal of my hand,
and in between the fingers,
one tuft of gold-gray fur remains.
c2011 T.L.Stokes (all rights reserved)