October 19

comments 10
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You said you hear the coyotes
more at night now,

that deer traipse down
the gully’s broken scree

with inherent trepidation,
their silence speaking

for them as much as any yip
or yowl.

I miss the cold nights there
when it’s so clear

a halo rounds the moon,
sharp air forcing awe

from my ungrateful lungs.
I miss the length

of a northern winter night,
with ample room

for new and old fears,
and how fresh snow

seems to temper them
best with its absolute silence,

more presence
than absence, more

an answer,
than yet another ask

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10 Comments

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