Hear the coyotes yip and bay
As the night becomes a living thing
Under the ignited charge of their calling breath
A chorus united and moving as one
A chortling wave across the open land
Feel the tingling prick of electricity
The crisp chill of primal recognition
Scoring a vibratory channel
Through the brass of your teeth
The drum of your skull
The steel of your spine
Launching you from your place of comfort
Into your tribal home
Where there is no roof
And there are no doors
And we are hunted by the grip of our howl
© H. Hennenburg, 4 May 2019
Copyright protected by Digiprove © 2019 H. Hennenburg
Love it Heather.
Thanks so much, my friend!