The Laughter of Coyotes
Last week I mentioned that I was working on a poem about coyotes. They are plentiful here, judging by the amount of noise I hear at night. As for sightings, I don’t recall that I’ve seen one since we arrived. They are masters of camouflage with their gray-brown fur and their capacity to conceal themselves.
I’ve lived within earshot of coyotes in various places since I was seventeen. I’ve listened to them in Missouri, California, and Arizona, where my evenings have been enlivened and entertained by their nightly choral performances. Here in very rural Arizona, as elsewhere, they remain nearly invisible but quite audible.
Laughter of Coyotes
Laugh out into the darkness,
All you coyotes;
Whoop your raucous hilarity to the night,
While Moon looks scandalized and prim.
Within your earth-hued coats of invisibility
You trek and hunt unseen,
Just a faint shadow against the twilight.
Sun blinks and you are gone;
Moon blinks and no one sees.
So perhaps it is not strange
That you use your vast voices
To assert your presence in our midst.
You let loose your midnight levities
To shriek through the canyons,
Leading our imaginations a drunken chase
Across the hills and night-black valley;
Yet we will never quite comprehend
The soul of your merriment,
Will wonder vaguely about a jest
So audible, so enormous, and so secret.
As I posted last week, don’t forget to check the #trpplffect podcast, where I discussed why I love form poetry, as well as one sort of poetry I seldom write: narrative verse.
You can listen to the whole episode here.
And don’t forget to check out my Ko-fi page, where you can buy a copy of The Hillside Diary or commission a sonnet on everyday things.