Coyote could eat me in one snap, maybe two,
okay four,
but not more than ten,
Friend crow, calls to me, “Listen up, drifter, see the pale bristle at seven o’clock,”
Twin marbles meeting mine,
I am meat if the cad but dares,
the sycamores will not tell,
the summer children lay sleeping,
until hunger wakes fear,
fear, a wild dog that waits.

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