Animals in the Cold
Shivering makes me a puppet,
Dancing to the crystal strings of a deep,
and enrobing cold.
Suddenly, the shaking is in one limb, even just one muscle,
Then its another.
Movement and pause in untimed waves.
Yet, the twitching and its effects,
Become a type of relief.
Ahead, a sleek and low slung coyote crosses the chilled morning road.
Aware, controlled, purposeful.
Turning its angular head,
It gazes at me for a moment,
Then it moves on.
It knows it has nothing to fear from the trembling man.
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