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|  FUR

 
  Rabbit fur stuck on the gravel road,
the wind opens up the soft down.

Here a coyote ate beside
a deep north-blown
snow dune, a relic from the storm.

I pass each morning
and watch the small patch
of fur and dried blood shrink
like a hand that sinks out of sight.
Still speaking last words.


from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski