You do not have to travel far, only
until the sidewalks end 
and ranches replace strip malls and cattle and signs of 
"Danger 1080" and "Strychnine"
appear alongside the highway.
Look there beneath 
the barbed wire fence
for the delicate 
parting of grasses. 
Get on your knees and trace out the path 
of winding iron and jagged 
spikes. Here you will find coyote, tufts of tangled 
fur left behind as they crossed 
into new, and unforgiving, pastures.

If you decide to go farther,
farther into the remote Chihuahuan desert among 
the Lechuguilla and Creosote and Yucca 
and sleep there atop the limestone earth beneath 
the sky glazed with stars,
you may wake to the sound of yipping and of
hurried footsteps circling round and
round your tent in ever 
tightening laps. 
Though you may then reach out your head to 
try to catch a glimpse of coyote, 
they will have already scattered 
soundlessly into the night.

And when you return home and find 
yourself sitting on the porch
bathing in the last warm 
glimmers of the setting 
Texas sun, wait
and listen 
for the steady crescendo, now 
familiar to you, of short 
sharp howls. This 
is the song of your 
neighbor.