Sunday, July 13, 1980

THAT I AM COYOTE


THAT I AM COYOTE, ii

Coyote was my witness
howling at the doorstep.
Some say I was born in the crack
between the lintel and doorjam.

I've been the hooves of the centaur,
the ember sparking the crematory fire,
the grass on the sunken graves of Hittites.
I am the mist rising from hollow armors.

I've seen silvered hands of women
tattooed with indigo weaving the rug,
and the slaughtered fawn
run red synthesis upon the earth.

I am the song the edge of night sings
and dawn howls on street corners.
I was the essence that flew upward at creation
and out of it stars were made.

Nothing more than granite ground to flour by glaciers,
you race through streams to lie in the ocean.
I've divided air from water and fire from the horizon.
We are lines converging on the compass and the cross.

We are the first-born of Coyote.

1980



THAT I AM COYOTE  (line breaks are different)

coyote was my witness.
Some say i was born beneath the crack
between the lintel and the doorjam—
half way in, half way out.
I have been between air and water,
beyond fire, beyond earth.
I have been where the horizon
strokes the vertical lines
where the heavens and earth intersect.

Coyote still howls for me at the doorstep.
He howls for you.
He mourns for you.
He mourns for them.
I have seen the blood of the slaughtered fawn
that runs red synthesis upon the earth.
I was born to suck up the spilled blood of the dying,
the blood spilled for me to take.

I have been the hooves of the satyr on the blood-red carpet.
I have been the slumbering ember that sparked the crematory fire.
i have been the dewdrop that bathed the glistening bodies of the dying.
i am the breeze, the breeze that stirred the slumbering ember.

i have seen the indigo dye that stained the silvered hands
of the women weaving the rug.
I am the mist rising up from hollow eye sockets of rusty armors
I see the green plasma course through the veins of plants.
I have fluttered with my breath the blades of grass
upon the earth on the sunken graves of Hittites.

i am the note, the sound of wolves howling on street corners.
You are the color of the air trapped within a jar with the lid on tight.
You have travelled with me as we fell from the clouds
into a drop of ocean.
I was the essence that flew upward at creation
and out of it the stars were made.

We are the first-born children of coyote.
We are the line between the edge of night where trumpets
of hibiscus flowers gasp for air on city street corners at dawn.
We are the confluence of converging lines on the compass and the cross—
where they intersect and become whole.

You are behind me as I flow down to the sea and drown the living.
You are dead. you always will be dead. you have always been dead.
You are nothing more than fine granite flour
ground to powder by the glacier.
You race through streams to lie in the ocean as silt
and listen to cypress trees sway wildly in the breeze
you blend into it. seeking the living, you search for it.
You listen for the cry of coyote
and you seek the quintessence that I am.

1980  79?
Cotati





No comments: