The Raven craws at the day demanding its due;
without providing a lick of work,
Coyotes sit in their cell
and then walk out
with a path unfolding.
I busy myself when there is no busy to do and wonder,
where is the filling for this space,
what's in the way?
If I do not see you tonight
in the eye of lost sunlight,
dust motes deepening the skyline beyond thought,
I will call you with a bright high yip.
I'll look out of one good eye
and while I listen to the sighing of your boughs,
heavy on the sandy ground,
I will ask for this grace.