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