Coyotes

I never really go anywhere
on the tractor—

I am only passing through.

I often pass along
the banks of the Saint Joe
and look out onto the river—

Birds spiral into the clouds
where the water cuts the sky.

I pass by the trail
where the deer cross—

(I hear that coyotes travel
These paths as well)

Perhaps I’ve never known them
in the way that the people
here have never really known me.

They never really see me
like the coyote passing through.