From the Porch into the Dawn

Poetry, Taos Writing Retreat Issue

The coyotes woke him against his will

but he embraced it.

He was dreaming of the ocean on a boat

far from the shore. The waves were rhythmless and patternless:

mad and perfect.


The waves became sound --

each climactic pitch was a tangible epiphany--

every incidental fleeting harmony was true love.


Henry wagged his tail and stepped off the porch

into the dawn.


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