A poem for coyote

 

Coyote,

    the adaptable one.

Never listening

    to what you think,

Save to leave

    when he can

        to avoid danger.

The howler to the moon,

    to the train,

    the plane,

    and most certainly,

        the siren.

The longing croon.

The desert,

    our home.

 

Thank you, Julie Lue. I so appreciated your essay on Coyote (“Overheard in Montana,” HCN, 9/4/17). As we experience this creature, so we discover the spirit of song, and whelping dens that have youth within. The cycle of seasons. Where in the spring? Now have they dispersed.

These are the songs of the rural. Experienced on the edge, but then, not quite. Unless one explores, and finds the places. The spaces of changing patterns. Coyote. The mischievous one.

Todd Teicheira
Bend, Oregon