poem 21: Revisiting the Coyote

Revisiting the Coyote (Three Years Later)

Dear animal,
dear sweet thing,
I loved once. The last nap
I took in the state of Ohio

was an elegy to you.
Remember California?
The morning I found you there
I couldn’t tell to call you:
coyote,
animal, no,
dead and gone.

I’ve spent this life trying to call each thing
by its right name and you’ve been no different.

Coyote, let me tell you our portrait
from the spring of that year:

I walked along the tracks
following a path worn by pilgrims
and stumbled upon your body with a weight
at my heart. Near that grotto you were

wildlifelessness.
I’ve asked you once:
did you go in your sleep?
Were you hunting

for some family? Are you missed?
Those bare teeth were a reference
to a fighting life but I couldn’t help
imagining something more solemn,

just as romantic. You were some hidden
lighthouse on that burnt up mountain
and that spring you consumed
me with your going. Dear animal,

dear decomposition
of us all, I’ve got the bared teeth too.

--mgb 11.2010

*some lines from this are taken from Dr. Zhivago.

This is the third poem I wrote about this coyote. The first was written four years ago and the second was written two years ago.

This will be read at Mark Welborn's junior recital next week along with "On the Last Ferry Home..." and another poem that I haven't written yet.

6:30 on Tuesday, November 30 in Fairchild Chapel in Oberlin, OH.