The eye of the coyote is on me, the crow is watching.
In the dripping gray, the wood frog dodges my step.
The rotting blackness glistens, the dark water laps at horsetail reeds.
My heart returns here, though I am far away.
The bleached tamarack roots shelter minnows,
On their trunks, turtles perch and bask as the sun ascends.
The crow sees my heart, she knows my yearnings.
She and her brood are never far from me.
White-throated sparrows call me down a fire lane.
My shoes are stained with red dust.
In the whistling of sparrows,
In the breeze that wrinkles the black copper waters,
In the mist that lingers in the cedars,
The eye of the coyote is on me, the crow is watching.