Coyote

Coyote

I forget that you are there

Coyote, you sly one

in your canine cleverness.

You the trickster of ancient stories

who spread the stars with your tail—

You fool me.

I’m distracted by

the bumbling possum,

the facile raccoon,

the leggy beauty of the flighty doe,

or even the lumbering bear who fears nothing, clawing the trunks of great trees

and feasting on seedy berries and fish.

I never see

you Coyote,

and barely notice your traces of

muddy prints and bleached bones.

Yes, I forget. I walk, my dogs run ahead;

blissful they are, happy to find the bones you leave, happy to sniff your lingering presence. And me, I walk unaware, until

at night

late with no moon

your howls with unearthly overtones

fill the forest and

my primal human hair

rises up on my neck

and I remember

that you stalk the fawn and

the grouse and

the pet and possibly

even me.

I think in your howls I hear

the reminder that life is

moment to moment,

full of peril;

and safety a dangerous illusion

born of chosen ignorance

so that one can enjoy

a walk. Patricia Thrushart
http://www.thewatershedjournal.org/