The Coyotes
are having the night.
They yip and yip
and near. I imagine
the smell and sounds
of their many expressions
of gland, paw & incisor
repeating, close as moon beams
cutting through my nylon.
What they’re having
isn’t about me or mine.
But they’re having it
on the same side of the river
where I woke
from dreaming
about her again.
I think I love what cannot know me
the most or deepest.
Or I imagine this
to be true. And they can probably smell this
from my pits and groin
when they become aware I am here.
And, not up to me, they’ll have this too.
MARCUS MYERS lives in Kansas City, Missouri, where he teaches and serves as the founding and managing editor of Bear Review. Author of the chapbook Cloud Sanctum (Bottle Cap Press, 2022), his poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from The Common, The Cortland Review, The Florida Review, Hunger Mountain, Jet Fuel Review, The Laurel Review, Mid-American Review, Poetry South, RHINO, Salt Hill, Tar River Poetry, Windfall Room and elsewhere.
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