old coyote

i saw an old coyote today or what was left of one biggest id ever seen or maybe i only say that now because death makes everything larger and smaller he was hung on a fence post just caught skin silhouetted the shape of bone bone learning to breathe air wind threading him through the wire as if finishing what time began how many seasons did he carry in his ribs how many ribs counted the winters empty belly winter winter belly empty did he lope across sage and dust did he sing into a dark that never answered did he nose through frozen fields for a scrap of frozen something meat meaning mercy mercy meaning meat he must have been magnificent once full fur full hunger yellow eyes bright with the bright of wanting wanting wanting and now the sockets two small rooms where sight used to live i think of the mirror how it keeps a room for my eyes how it keeps them hollow how it keeps this coyote is me this coyote is me caught on some small decision some ordinary wire a fence i told myself was horizon a boundary i knew as safety i tell myself i endured i call it surviving i call it striving but the words thin out in my mouth and my mouth thins in reply how many winters have i spent shivering beside my own life sniffing at closed doors mistaking rust for refuge mistaking trust for refuse i grew into my bones i grew and grew until the growing was only ache until the ache was the only proof that i was still warm and what for to be found like this in the middle of nowhere which is to say in the middle of myself long dead not yet fallen bitter is a small word it barely covers the bone of it the way i let myself be snagged the way i stayed starving slow slow starving waiting for someone or something to cut me down but the wind only passes through and calls it singing

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jack-jenkins

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