Coyote sat by the Coleman flame,
thinking small bird, small animal;
AH, hunger is...snap at mosquito!...
so horrible, so beautiful!
Coyote saw footprints hours ago;
footprints of saint coyote;
footprints leading off the world
"like all the sweetmeats of my hope..."
Three Tuesdays for the holy coyote,
yet this famished one could not sing
a christmas carol nor talk til dawn
with sandy words in his mouth.
Three the nations and three the kings,
three days dead and hungry;
"tres milagros de ma vida", coyote thinks
hoping to break his fast.
Coyote sat by an open window,
and silently wished for fat,
knowing the prey as he knows himself...
Dawn! hits the optic nerve...