I haven’t heard the coyotes crying all winter.
The logging on Weiss Rd. must have chased them off.
Last year they came as near as Willhopper meadow,
just across the creek from my house, howling,
of course, but making another noise, too,
like hysterical children, worse than anything
I’ve heard since the deer broke its leg
in the gully behind the spring.

It’s midnight, icy cold in the house.
The darkness and the silence are absolute.
I have been angry with my son, and can’t sleep
listening for the coyotes.

(kz 1987) (published in Silverfish Review)

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