Photo & Poem: Coyote Run

Ancient mountains send coarse
sand and sharp stone down, just
pebbles at a time, to leave us
unsteady on our feet, before

rolling past us, into dry washes
rough-cut across this red desert. On
the ebb of cool wind, the voices
of women, whispers as loud as

shouts, are carried on the tongues
of coyotes as the pack traverses
the path back up, running wild
on the ridge, releasing our words

to burn hot on the mountain, the
smoke rising in pink and gold clouds
languishing across the sky, above the
reach of those with mortal complaints.

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

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Anna Blake

4 thoughts on “Photo & Poem: Coyote Run”

  1. How strange. The more you become removed from it all, the more you become part of the pack. AaaOoooooooooooOoooo!
    We howl in beauty. Nice one, Anna.

    Reply
  2. The image this poem evokes speaks to my heart of heart and to the breath needed for forming words. Words that coyote tongues are hungry to carry, white hot like brands are, into the world. Thank you.

    Reply

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