By Echolocation
Date: 2001 Dec 01
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Arkansas Night (Winter)

Wind rushes in the high pine trees with the sound of surf breaking on a long shore
Clouds glide smoothly, swiftly across the sky, skaters on a frozen blackness
Spangled with ice-chip stars
Full moon tips the blowing leaves with silver,
Turning the red wine to black
Even as it edges our glasses with white fire
In the distance, coyotes howl a pagan hymn
I lean back against your warmth
Your arms slip around me as you rest your chin on my head
For a brief moment, now stretches out to forever
As we stand silently drinking in the night