There was no moon to witness the murder,
no sun to kiss an image indelibly on the basalt earth.
A few stars stood bone-still and blind
no sign of their milky companions
and even the chill in the air held its breath.
There was a girl, but now there is none
and she took her stories with her. Nothing remains
but a ripple of fear, a finger brushing the skin
drawing the fur tight on the coyote’s necks, bristling
as they skirt their way round, safe passage stolen.
February 16, 2009