A Poem

listening to the coyotes laugh
as the night falls, soft and dark
the golden whisky in my glass
glows in the cabin's candlelight.
I stay inside, enveloped in the warmth
and shadows
they dance inside and out.

those old worn-down mountains
casting dog voices all around
like rocks falling into the canyon
and the river laps them up
a tongue in the valley
and a voice,
it speaks.

my moon winks and watches
she's most patient in the night
covering it with her light
she can see every ripple
on the silver-snake back
of the talking river.
but what does the river say
to make the coyotes laugh?

as the river flows she speaks,
the gravely voice of ancients.
in her throat rocks rub and crash
chortling and choking,
"you laugh at me, as I run fast
and slow through seasons. you,
dogs!, laugh as the mountain
crowds me with sediment
fills in my depths and
makes me brown with ages.
you laugh because you do not see
I eat the mountain
as the mountain eats me
and where will you laugh
when we have eaten one another?
when only the moon stands to see?

and the coyotes laugh
because the know, as always,
the river or the falling rocks
will set them free.

my moon winks and watches
and shares a drink with me.