No one knew how long a coyote practiced
to put his chill into that first anemic drop
of moon, cold water in an ear. The teals cleared

a steeple's silver rain grace to waddle.
Two pelicans fanned a coal of sun. The skyline
dripped townhouses. Who's to say nothing will

come of this? Starlets were breakers on the cool
church of night. Moths, sober as spun cotton,
whored with every glow in the universe, codes

tapped out their ancient rhythms
on tired porch lights, while stars
prowled a tin earth like baffled cats.

Trees walk back into their forest of houses. It's wash
night in the yellow one two doors down. A woman
packed for the Laundromat like she was leaving all she knew.