Come brothers and foes

at the end of my nose

I know you can't see me

and hear my cry

when the nighthawks fly

life's for the living

free.

When the sun shines down the land dries up

and locusts whirl and buzz

when it's hot and mean

I've got my own scene:

it's a hole underground for this pup.

But according to men,

those wholived here once,

then;

not the one's all around this place now:

I made all this myself!

If you wonder, but how?

Well,

how else could I fit in so well?

Like a small, sly doggie demiurge

I crouch and stretch and rise

to awaken in the evening

fluffed up, alert and wise.

Emergence from the underworld,

even when it's your den

is always a new beginning:

it's time to go hunting then.

Come run, come race, along the trace

through sagebrush, bunchgrass, rocky place,

by river willows, under fence,

I'll disappear.

You'll know not whence.

I'll call my clan across the land:

together, we will call our prey

and run them down

'till break of day.

I'll sing with beauty, sing with strength

I'll sing with wavering breath and length.

A tremolo

up to the sky.

I'll sing until the day I die.

Relations then will come to me

from all the wide serentity:

my brothers, sisters, cousins

then

old aunts and uncles

sometimes friends.

Perhaps a stranger to the pack:

I'll bite him once

upon the back.

And then together we will run

all down the swales...

(TO BE CONTINUED)

-- Anonymous, June 10, 2002

Answers

I hear you.

We see the same moon.

Keep singing.

I'll hear you.

: : : : : : : : : :: : : : : : ::: :: : : : :

-- Anonymous, June 21, 2002