The wilderness has been long forgotten,
And all that remains is the desert.
The coyote wanders this desert, but he does not fear.
Food will come in its time. Water will come later.
I seek this coyote, in the desert, in this dry plain.
I seek the one who wanders alone;
I desire to wander with him.
His food is not of the body, but of the heart.
I watch him eat to his content, then wander on.
Nothing has happened.
He is not full and he is not hungry.
My heart is a starving child,
And I scream as he eats.
I tell him it is poison. I tell him it is rotting and already too late.
But it is I who am poisoned.
He knows I am dying, and in that moment
I hate him.
One day, I will be weaned.
I will no longer cry out in mourning.
As the sun rises over this eternal field,
We find each other curled,
And we shall feast.
I shall tear his flesh from his side,
And he from mine,
Until the light touches nothing but the bones,
Still wet from our dripping mouths.
We are content in our death.
We have no more to eat.
