beneath the suburban silence
in between cricket chirps,
cycling in the
calm-chaos-calm
of light traffic – sirens- far-away train
in the echo of every canine nail as they
click * click * click *
along the cold sidewalk
pulling computer-weary owners
on one more daily commute.
there in the soft rustle of white oak leaves
after a triumphant squirrel
cheeks packed with black oil sunflower seeds,
has darted into its heartwood burrow
safe from hungry owls and vengeful humans.
in the downbeat of my heart.
slipping coyly through my rolling veins.
impregnating the oxygen-starved blood
meant to stabilize the asynchronous
rhythm in my inner ear.
some nights when the street lights dim,
and the moon shows its full hungry face
the sound floods my skin, bones, tendons, organs,
reverberating through my marrow until I shake
with the call
those are the nights I dart through the artificial grass
to my drywall burrow, hoping
it’s thick enough to shield me
from the Coyote God’s call.
to keep my willing knees off his sacrificial altar
to the hungry howling moon.
