Where the Street Ends

Stillness.

Empty water in the trees.
Pine needles listen in.

The summer woodpecker
who thrums the telephone pole
In front of my house

has left a hole
the whole world crowds into,
collapsing the distance

from birth to madness
into a walnut size pocket.

A lone urban coyote
sniffs the night air below the pole

and continues his evening rounds
unhindered by justice

and beyond wild
in his solitude.

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