Coyote’s Anthem
Out there, those hobo dogs squeal well before midnight;
whatever sets one off—his scream gets the rest
keening their nameless moans,
solo hymns strung
slope
to slope,
an orphans’ chorus, mutts
touching the dark, vagrant notes
preaching or mourning above the musky desert,
songs like a migrant wind: roaming, flighty, blind.
