ISSN 1758-6488
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Four Fables Set in The Shawnee Hills Poetry |
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COYOTES
Fishers of shadows along fence lines,
skulkers of gullies and creek banks,
unstoppable immigrants, they pass quickly
on the old path that leads through the city
but never directly in front of you,
so you do not truly see them
until you find one dead on the interstate,
so large the body, so broad
the tail, you cannot believe it,
and then you are walking out of the sedge
into the thicket of that fur one night
when this unearthly shouting comes
up from the ridge by the lake,
yips, some say, or howls, but no—
you have to take it somewhere else.
Rimbaud in the barn in Charleville,
the opium screaming Une Saison en Enfer.
Coltrane playing outside. The place
where she changed. Giant steps. The truth
you hear sometimes and know false
and keep secret because it might be true.
