Coyote Fog

Looking across the south forty

I watch a coyote lope through

a thin layer of morning fog

the stride is awkward and

effortless at the same time

the creature crosses the field

and is gone in no time worth

mentioning.  As a child I fail

to realize the metaphor displayed

looking across fifty years and fog

that hinders clear memory I strain

to discern whether it was a coyote

or a farm dog hot on a scent

how childhood fled in no time worth

mentioning.  As an adult I fail

too often to see a metaphor realized.

 

When I awake to a thin layer of morning fog

the coyote within – or the farm dog

hot on a scent – draws my vision.

9-23-2015

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