Jacquelyn Hinze
Coyotes
A poor chorus has gathered behind the hill.Too close, scathing,The shrieks and criesScratch the clouds from the stars—Rain-softened scabs.The moon bleeds and seepsInto parched grass.
A poor chorus has gathered behind the hill.Too close, scathing,The shrieks and criesScratch the clouds from the stars—Rain-softened scabs.The moon bleeds and seepsInto parched grass.