Sundown when the wind turns off
we walk over tessellated sand
to Johnstones’ ranch.
They have a well.
They shut the dog indoors
and hose-fill old pans
to water the wild things.
On the cooling earth we sit back
so silent the dreams come.
Is this a conference of shadows
father coyote and his family
around the water pans?
And not far enough to mean fear
only decorum
the periscope ears of three
no five rabbits. Waiting.
A narrow moon steals up.
All shadows are brothers.
Now when the tall ears
bob toward the water circle
we know the coyotes are off
into silver spaces
their eyes coming out to hunt
with the other stars.