Poetry


man, those howlers were barking up a storm
when we arrived, stepping out of the car
and into the humid seaside evening air

the next morning in the rain, we didn't
see them, but heard 'em, and i got my
best howler monkey guttural call on

it didn't matter because it was raining
in the rainforest along the caribbean
and the sound of them was good enough

as if you're going to believe that, dear
reader, we wanted to see them, and is
why i howled more than a few times
 
if in the late afternoon light you were to say to me,
let’s climb up that mountain and see if we can find
whether there’s a breathtaking view on top of it,
i’d bend over and tie my bootlaces a little tighter

Zion National Park, Utah

i’d then rummage through the gear stashed in the car trunk,
gathering up sleeping pads and bags, a tent for both of us
knowing that the stars would be closer to us up there
where we could wish upon them, and dream our wishes

a coyote crossed my path yesterday

trickster, sauntered across the road

and up the railroad tracks embankment

looking back and then disappearing

down over the other side to the east

 

i was out biking, taking advantage of

forties for temperatures and sunny

skies, even though a stiff wind blew

from the southwest that put a chill

in the air and slowed me down some

 

it was my first “wild” coyote sighting,

i think, bringing a smile to my face like

the first time i heard them in the night

camped at devil’s tower after a

tremendous summer storm passed

 

 

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