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All The Time Running (Mary Frances Wagner)

Even when you see it coming,
leave tread prints behind,
you'll wonder about this moment,
this curve at dusk, the dog chasing
the coyote across a field, the coyote
losing ground each time he checks
his pursuer, all the time running
toward the road, toward the woods
on the other side, all of us thinking
we have enough time. Then brakes
yield that rubbery smell of trying.
In that instant the coyote sees you,
his eyes hold all he knows.
When you stand on the shoulder,
you'll see the pool form, the eyes
glaze over, the body heat
shimmer into the air; how fast
light subtracts itself.

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