Original Text: 
Apostrophes VI: Open the Grass. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press, 2004: 56.
1Coyotes wake when we lie down upon the verge of sleep enclosed,
2intent upon pursuits that take them through the night, always nearby,
3the clamour of their sudden laughter rising up beside us. Sleep
4does not begin, it enters our bodies unperceived, and then
5it is all that we are, a world sleeping in us, desiring nothing
6but the sleep we are, the world's only residue within
7our flesh the echo of the coyotes and their waking joy where they
8are in their midnights, stars rolling through them, stars ablaze upon
9their tongues. No other stars rise up inside our nights: we are the sky
10within a sun, yet sky that has no sphere of final stars where in
11our sleep we might conclude, our prayers hushed against the air, their words
12invisible around our bodies. Coyotes lope beneath the sky
13at night, its silence on their backs, the quickened folly of their calling
14opening the sky, and where it opens we are open, flesh
15forgotten with our prayers, the air around the stars flowing through
16the sleep we are, so close we are their intimates, breathing fire.
Publication Start Year: 
RPO poem Editors: 
Ian Lancashire
RPO Edition: 
Special Copyright: 

&copy; 2004 <i>Apostrophes VI: Open the Grass</i> University of Alberta Press