COLLOQUY WITH A COYOTEKi-yoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo!
Speak now, O coyote, rumped upon the knoll!
Into the bowl of desert night—
Clinking and cool with stars—oh, roll
The melancholy of your soul.
When sentimental with the moon, you cry
Your longing to the lady in the sky,
Know that you do not grieve for her, alone,
That your deep yearning, sprung from blight
Of solitude, is tallied by my own.
Speak then, O coyote, speak for me;
With your seductive melody cajole
The lovely one to be more intimate, invite
Her to linger for a moment of delight.
The virgin, you, and I—we three
On such a night should be more neighborly.
Into the bowl of desert night—
Clinking and cool with stars—oh, roll
The melancholy of your soul.
When sentimental with the moon, you cry
Your longing to the lady in the sky,
Know that you do not grieve for her, alone,
That your deep yearning, sprung from blight
Of solitude, is tallied by my own.
Speak then, O coyote, speak for me;
With your seductive melody cajole
The lovely one to be more intimate, invite
Her to linger for a moment of delight.
The virgin, you, and I—we three
On such a night should be more neighborly.
In the homeland whence I came, a solitude
Dark with its regiments of lancing pine
That march from peak to water-line,
Dark with its regiments of lancing pine
That march from peak to water-line,
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