Coyote boy came loping through the 'hood.
He was gangly, walking crookedly,
and howling to a tune
beneath the light of the rising moon.
Coyote boy preferred the shadows of dusk.
His hair was disheveled, his eyes dark.
But I held his glance for just a moment
as he side-stepped through my yard.
Was that a momentary flicker, a light,
a memory of being human behind that dark fringe?
It passed as he dropped his eyes
and dodged toward the next house.
Coyote boy, as if drawn by some primal call,
ducked into the shadows of the wood just beyond,
still howling a tune
beneath the light of the winter moon.