Elke is watching someone who has climbed to a
small peak in her enclave. She is below them,
hidden amongst the chaparral and lying belly-flat
in the gravel and tiny stones, with yearning
in her chest.

The person stands atop a plinth in the center
of the peak and cups her hands around her
mouth and howls long and false and unencumbered,
and in the dark with the city-lights in the
distance all of the coyotes call back, first
one, then another, then the multitude.
Hundreds of coyotes.

And when they are done howling,
they start laughing.

11/26/2013

Posted on 11/26/2013
Copyright © 2024 Eli Skipp