There’s a coyote

who prances for prey, alone,

bushy tail and quick jaws,

out by the downed orchard ladder,

knows

each morning,

to amble by, crosswise, unhooked fence

to closed.

I don’t know where he wanders but

his visits thread the world,

animal to animal,

and my mind follows full marled fur

beyond the wire and through the long field

of thin-armed oaks.

The next meal is plenty to concentrate on

with wide openness,

allure, risk, and slow lichen growing,

a bounty of waiting.