#28

A car upside down in the ditch that runs along
the 101, tires spinning like a beetle trying
to turn itself over.

A coyote that had run down to the pavement,
mangled and zipped open like a purse.

No one in the car, no footprints in the mud
pool it sits in.

The sky scans the landscape, looking for
any breath of human life here,
and you hold your breath--

trying to hide, to not let out a single
sound that will give you away,

holding your breath until it all moves
in reverse.