everyone thinks
whether they know about it or not,
everyone thinks they have Coyote inside -
or some charming trickster. I'm eight
yesterday, when he follows me and
my ancient horse to the edge of the canyon.
we all rest on the rocks for a good
long time, panting in the sun
under a deliberate blue sky. right there,
a horned toad scuttles into the sand -
I could saddle-bag him, but choose instead
to mark the moment with my hand
around wood turned to stone. then
time-to-go calls. Coyote and I lock eyes,
smile politely, and it is the end of an
unconscious moment, the beginning of knowledge.
girl, he says, keep your whole self aware
of what is going on out there. dinner calls
the old horse and me; Coyote gets no treat.
someday I will go back and leave things
for Coyote or archaeologists to find.
