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 I'll start this with an ending, or something like an ending,
at least there's tension and fading light. In the back field, our
neighbor Lee's long field behind us, we were sliding
 along the muddy pasture road --the dogs, the boy and I all out for a
walk at dusk--when a coyote, bright as tomorrow, opened and shut
and opened again the woods' dark doors then stilled to stand and
look at us. The dogs trembled and communicated with a quickening of
every muscle
while I tried just to read the animal's face. But all I got was the
starkness of form: that which hunts before me, that which is not dark in
the darkness. 

NATHANIEL PERRY's book Nine Acres, in which these poems appear, is the 2011 winner of The American Poetry Review/Honickman First Book Prize. He lives with his family in rural southside Virginia. He is the editor of the Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review and teaches at Hampden-Sydney College.
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Title Annotation:six poems
Author:Perry, Nathaniel
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Nov 1, 2011
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