A Poem
by Ned



Coyotes silently circle
invisible in the darkness
- shadows with beating hearts.
Only the smell of their fur
whisper of their breath
the undeniable pressure of soft pads on sand
can prove their presence.
In morning, daylight dismisses
indentations on the ground.
The smell, the whisper become
wind blowing through the campfire
or a dream.
Still behind closed eyes
they dog my steps,
outside of seeing,
but real to me
as your hand on my heart.