unmoored

Unmoored by the afternoon,

I follow a coyote

along the crease

of the forest.

The hinge of everything

collects itself

to open something

up. If I try,

I can remember

the sounds of

this reverence:

the silence of the

loosestrife, the

scent of

a body larger

than the world,

incorrigible,

wild, and

limned with love.

---©Laura Sorrells 2013

all rights reserved

Done