Rik George writes

The Coyote

Last night it snowed. Tonight it drifts. 
The coyote calls from the eastern hills. 
He’d have me raise my cry with his 
to grieve the moon’s uncaring ways. 
I hear the despair in his howling 
that the moon has done him wrong. 
I will not go to howl with him. 
I will not go where God has spilled 
his star shaker across the sky. 
What care I for the fickle moon, 
that I should freeze in the winter wind? 
Let old coyote howl for himself. 
I’ve faithless loves of my own to accuse, 
and in my house I have fire and light.Coyote Silhouette - Jean Anne Baldwin