Does the coyote notice the texture
of the harsh desert sky? The sun
leaves brushstrokes on the horizon,
a living landscape of lights
cascading like colorful confetti
celebrating life for its own sake.
And what of the cactus, calling out
in dull greens, living in the shadow
of that portrait screaming above?
The coyote lives on the dirt, primal
and simple, indifferent to the wonders
howling where heavens dare.