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July 2015, vol 11 no 2

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Jeff Streeby

Calling Coyotes


January sunrise –

the hill, the hills, the hills,
then the hills beyond.

To the ear as sound would have it. To the nostril, what the wind brings. To the eye so much as light may offer. To the belly, to the loins, to the heart’s frame, no more than hunger will make plain.

Virgin snow.
Big dog coyote coming in.

Our sure, strong traps of instinct.


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