A gift from a passing

a grey shadow has passed this house,
silent as the dawns first whispering,
the dogs lifted their heads, but
they did not speak, just observed,
as if in observing they could absorb,
what, I do not know, maybe its knowledge,
or maybe the essence of its tranquility,
can a shadow hold such benefits,
was wisdom carried in its passage,
ancient and secretive it is a part of me,
just as it a part of all mankind,
and I too know it with respect and wonder,
I cannot help but love its pace of movement,
a burnished streak without a furtive glance,
I feel somehow it took a particle from me,
a wonder of this life transiting nexus,
tomorrow I will stand in the still darkness,
hoping, wishing that it will return,
halt in its work and look in my direction,
eyes connecting to its piercing golden orbs,
there must be magic in its slightest gaze,
will I become a better child of nature for it,
is strength gained from its untamed soul,
it has touched a buried primitive part of me,
feeling a spiritual bond with this brother,
does it desire the same or abhor my smell,
repulsed by the savagery of my ancestors,
so then, it has every right to distrust me,
I watch yearning for a moment’s pause,
a gift of purpose in recognition, from
this enigmatic solitary wandering coyote.

©2011, Donald Harbour

It’s a jungle out there

The rain is falling in torrents,
Somewhere high above Spring’s pitcher
tips and the water cascades over
the rim of the mile high clouds.
Creatures are draped in soaked
giant Elephant Ear  leaves .
The plain is festooned with mushrooms,
umbrellas clutched against the wind.
All the hippopotamuses, rhinos, and
wildebeests mix with the sharks,
the lions and birds of paradise.
The herd is on the move, sloshing,
Snorting at the elephants waiting
on the other side of the crossing.
A monkey wearing white gloves
whistles at the multitude and waves.
Another trail fills with scrambling
leather and rubber clad hooves.
There is no sound from them,
they do not exchange glances or
touch, their space never shared.
But, there is fear in their eyes.
Fear that instead of eating,
they will be the ones eaten.
It’s a jungle out there, in the city.

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour