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

                    lovingly.


                              ~


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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