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coyote strolls into the house,
on a balmy night
after the rains have ended,
a night remembered for the sound of crickets
and coyote’s toenails|
tap tapping on the wooden floor.

coyote smells everything,

old newspapers,

the knitting,

the bowl of fruit she finds

with one paw up on the counter,

when she also notices me –

having hoped for mice,

or duck pate –

and instead gotten human.

then, so as to detain her briefly,

i slide the door closed,

holding in her beauty,

as moonlight breaks through the cloudy night sky,

a ban on nuclear weapons is announced,

health care is guaranteed to everyone as a fundamental right,

palestinians and israelis form one democratic state,

music appreciation classes are funded and returned to the curricula of public schools,

and a symphony orchestra of children under twelve

serenades our congress

while coyote walks round my bedroom,

squatting to pee near the bookcase,

as i pull the quilt up to my neck

and fall asleep

trusting in dreams