THE COYOTE PANELS
MARK BURGH
Charred glow burns over the mountains, shadows the boulders, & paints the cliffs an umber shade. Some pine trees placid, waiting, some leaning forward as if listening to an ancient tale. Coyote waits. For a passing lamb, or careless bird. Fur bristled by wind, haunches sprung iron furled to a fist. Bold contracts set in stone. Now a spinnaker’s moment, the snap, thrust, underslung jaw living red, feathers simmer to rest in thorn bushes. Coyote eats like cruel men pray. Rogue portions for the slinker. Or this: just before dawn arc-lights the 210 outside of Pasadena, a single tawny dog, spindle-legged, head lowered, sparks across eight lanes, heading for the bushes, stops to catch your headlights, throws them right back at you.
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