She left silently.
Sleek as garden coyotes
that slip under the fence
on a moonless night.
Maybe they come hunting gophers,
or just like the curved pathways
and ramshackle design.
She said she loved me,
but it was strawberries, cabbage
and long rows of kale and chard
that drew her.
When the fall frosts arrived,
our love was shredded like
so many squash leaves under
an onslaught of quarter sized hail.
There is no sign in the morning.
No track, or scent or hint of urine.
The land begins its long inhale,
A cleansing breath from the west.
Coyotes denned up now,
dreaming of plump rodents
and hornet larvae.
Oh, the screams,
the screams of pain and joy
as they bite into the hive.