Garden Coyotes By Peter Leusch

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.