Khevsurs Breaking Curfew

The coyote howled it

          into being:

                    the second half of the moon.

          Onlookers from balconies

          called to their lovers:

                    “Look, the glass is full now.

                    It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

His howl completed nothing,

          the other half

          was always there

          waiting to crawl into the bed-lit sky

          conjoined in twinhood.

Blushing clouds cover kin like a blanket

          stifling their barbaric babel

          and cooes to them a sleep

                    that night evaporates.


On the Georgian hills lay two bodies

          reclined on the barren soil within a ring

          of dew droplets strewn on sparse blades.

The woman’s legs, unshaved

          the man places a knife

          between the two

                    severing the covenant

                    between them and the night

          which lies just above them, before them.

Tonight is one singular moment

Passing like a needle through poached leather

          tearing through the hides with their canines



The coyotes are married to the night

          and night alone

          shrouded by aloneness

                    til the howl

          unites them on the Khevsur banks.

Then their shrieks cannot be mistaken.

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