Another One (a poem)

I dreamed you were a blond coyote
I held you and we cried because your blue eyes were so clear
And your smile was genuine
Not Cheshire or gritted show biz face
You were so blond, standing, leaning on that porch
Cool as the day you were born into your thirty names
Our Geronimo

In the morning after waking to a tear stained pillow
And your face in everything
I had a run in with a coyote
Not a blond, but still
Blue blue eyes and ragged
Not too long ago soft and beautiful, hope soaked and playful
Pacing, confused, back and forth in front of the little church