The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

-W.Shakespeare

Saturday 12 January 2013

Coyote Lines


Coyote;
Serenader
Of the moon.

He baits our plates.
A course, a song- 
The double hook-

Swallowed long ago.
Coyote’s fishing line
Caught on fear inside.

Bodies tremble in the night.
Coyote pulls us close tonight. 
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