Dark Music

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Along the river bottom

below our house,

coyotes run

through moon light

and  early snow

in headlong flirtation

with tree line shadows,

fallen angels dancing

to their own 

dark laughter.

 

Hearing their song,

my father smiles

into his coffee cup

with an irony familiar

to this child’s watchful eye.

There’d probably be

a sheep or two

down in the morning,

blood  frozen bright

on new snow.