Coyote Drum
I walk by but suddenly I stop.
The drum calls to my soul
And I long to touch its memory of you.
My fingertips brush the surface
Lightly tapping the silky resonance,
And I find comfort knowing
Your hands have caressed this same instrument,
Both in constructing the drum,
And in playing it.
I am reminded of times
You've drummed melodies into the night
With me by your side -
Once, amongst a circle of young students
Wide-eyed with the coyote magic
Of a night sheltered by cliffs
That only recently spared them;
Another time sitting in your window
With joyful, laughing children
Composing rhythms more ancient than they
In a window high above your street.
The sound is warm, sensuous, soothing, playful...
And on this night,
As on the others,
The drum's sounds become you...
And tonight I miss you,
Miss the feel of you
Beneath my fingertips.