“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Co-habit
Coyotes call out
as my alarm
under the mourning doves
coo who
take shelter and shade themselves
for the sunrise says something
predictably ominous and
October or somber.
Today, together, we all rise,
pecking or rooting our way
to live through the next
far-off sounds
Encased in lives that spin
bodies that stir
the world around
in space and time.
The shadows these worlds cast
are not solid bodies and growth
gives off chemical cues
that like evaporation,
dew always dissipates
into tomorrow,
there and gone,
a scent of something passed.
Photo credit: National Park Service from USA, taken 8/2017 [Public domain].
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