You beauty pup, all beige and gold
lying there, so still and cold

Not five months old, your guts strung wild
the magpies feast, cackle, smile

I touch your ear, soft golden fur
between dead eyes a bullet there

And the cattle roam free, the land lay torn
your only crime, coyote born

september 1992, a colorado landscape

where the old west crashes into the new west

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