Читать книгу A Bloom of Bones - Allen Morris Jones - Страница 10

The Coyote: Part I

He slipped through burnt timber,

thick fur damp under falling snow, browsing

the day’s odors, tender nose tilted to the breeze.

Then hesitated, ears swiveling toward

something amiss.

Me,

a hunter clumsy in heavy boots; musing on

the miracle of the moment. How I was alive here

among the charred branches

under the falling snow.

He scratched an ear, licked at a paw,

tasted the miles traveled since dawn. He had

been here forever, and will be here forever, in the

new snow falling gently

on black bark.

Amen.