Coyote in the House

Coyote strolls into my house
on a balmy night
after the rains have ended,
a night remembered for the sound of crickets
and coyote’s toenails|
tap 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 a blanket up to my neck
and fall fast asleep
trusting in dreams.