A mile or two away
\nabove the timberline
\nsheep spilled single-file
\nacross a meadow
\nand pooled at a low point.
\n“If we can see them,” you asked,
\n“can’t the coyotes?”<\/p>\n
At that moment,
\nwe met the strangers
\nman and woman —
\nso familiar
\nso good looking
\nso foreign.
\nI know now
\nthey were really coyotes
\nhaving a joke with
\nhow easy it is
\nto be human.<\/p>\n
How do I know? 08-25-1995<\/small><\/p>\n Listen to Graze<\/a> (36 seconds)<\/p>\n There may be something fitting in the concurrence of the start of National Poetry Month and April Fool’s Day — something in this poem, as well. This poem is the first I remember writing while camping with Merri, many years ago, along South Mineral Creek, in Colorado. mjh<\/span><\/p>\n My Virtual Chapbook<\/a> (table of contents)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A mile or two away above the timberline sheep spilled single-file across a meadow and pooled at a low point. “If we can see them,” you asked, “can’t the coyotes?” At that moment, we met the strangers man and woman — so familiar so good looking so foreign. I know now they were really coyotes … Continue reading Graze<\/span>
\nPerhaps it was
\nthe calm way they looked at us.
\nPerhaps it was
\nthe way they fell on the currant bush
\ndevouring berries.
\nPerhaps it was
\nall the wool they wore. mjh<\/em><\/p>\n
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