I've got a silver lotus
wrapped around my finger
and I'm rippping weeds from between the bricks
trying to keep the wolf from the door
and that old coyote from my bed
i hear him at night time
between the howling of the wind
and the rain trampling the tin roof
the gutters overflowing
with murky water threatening
to rise up and flood the house
with evaporated memories
he stays away
but the white of his teeth
a beacon in the dark night
winking at the full moon from a far
he's a hunter
waiting for a feed
(which he'll get if I stay out too late
loose my way
find myself face to face
palm to palm with strangers
sipping and slipping
tripping
skipping formalities
it's a strange kind of intimacy
a strangers kind of intimacy
strange
and kind)
Stay a while longer
coyote,
I'll sing you a song
self conscious and breathless
i'll confess
I'm really more a cat person
but dogs like you
have some appeal
by the light of the full moon
sipping and slipping
tripping
accross tram lines
to quiet corners
face to face
palm to palm
strangers, intimate
with strange kindnesses
and
unnecessary excesses
you're exposed too
beneath the glow
of an August full moon.
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