I move my existence into City
Coyote reads me stories but only at night. It is safe for Coyote at night. I am outside my space and it is tranquil. I hear Coyote. Coyote reads me the stories of the stars.
Town is surrounded by bush, hills and fields — Coyote’s home. Town is not afraid and Town knows it uses Coyote’s home to mark where I may have a space. I hear Coyote say goodbye.
I move my existence into City. From within my space, I look and see exhaust rising from Buildings’ tops. City breathes out but never inhales. I look down onto Road. Road and Buildings are married but never hold hands. River and Valley are married and they dance together. To the east and to the west is more of City. River and Valley are marked by what they are not to be. Without City, River and Valley cannot be. Coyote cannot speak to me here.
The stars write their stories above my space each night. I cannot read them. I try to speak to them. How many pages have I missed?
I cannot sleep. I know what this is. No. City’s ruckus keeps me up. No. My apprehensions are asleep. But I am not. I am with my thoughts. They are kind, yet I cannot sleep. I am thinking things that cannot be thought during daylight’s tick tock of the clock. I want medicine. It is late and it is early all at once.
I am in a strange shelf between daylight and nightlight. People are restless and never sleep, and Workers are tired and never awake. Streetlights are bright. (Sometimes they wink at me). I wish for Coyote and then step outside my space.
Man answers a phone. His toque is at the tops of his eyes. He needs something from the voice in the phone. The words are sharp and harsh. I can understand the page Man reads from.
Woman sings and talks all at once. Her dress looks like stained curtains. She wants someone to want her. I can understand the page Woman reads from.
They wiggles within a white tuxedo jacket. One of They’s fingers is on fire. It breathes like Buildings’ tops. They professes and mutters all at once. I can understand the page They reads from.
I hear the sounds of all three and I think of Coyote. Streetlights are looking down and the stars cannot see me. River and Valley are dancing far away and City shallows me. The sounds make me unable to see. I cannot see my space. I do not like this place, but then I hear Coyote speak to me.
Coyote’s voice washes Streetlights away. Now the stars may see me. Coyote says to not let an ecstasy make sounds all around me. You do not need medicine. I am here now. I cannot hear Man nor Woman nor They. All their pages are free from a sour psychology.
Coyote is here and City is nothing to fear. Let Buildings, Roads, River and Valley be. Coyote may always find the free. I hear the stories of the stars and sleep.
Originally published in The Prairie Journal, Issue 68, 2017–18.
