Gene Fowler		GENE FOWLER . . . . . . . . . .  NOTE LEFT FOR COYOTE               pinned to the slick bark                   where his own hide has been nailed                       more than once Coyote met the hunter    at the swollen green corpse of an old kill                the Hunter standing                huge, green as a deep-rooted pine, great                          stone axe on his shoulder       curled into a lope, laughing    down the slopes of long runs Coyote saw the she-wolf in the river                turned down stream, away       & ran with the river                    & wore a bit of green                as a glint in his night eye ran in his time of strength to the Hunter's ground                         & took his kill Coyote found a water fall running up & ran in the spit foamed Spring, chuckling                 in the moonlight O Coyote where have you gone in this windy night of huddled nuclear fires old, gone in the knees but still saying it listening to Magpie but through shuttered windows leaving the ground empty letting the Hunter own it long, easy lope up the curve of the day                               East into West                shanks light in the grass three places, you turn, are seen                          in the day's gallop    at the side of the mountain                rust in the dawn light       warming to the morning       headed already for the night kill    later, high on the ridge                   scenting the blood of your dream       catching a harder wind          looking back at the dawn, shaking it loose                               running on a third stop, to catch up the wind             at the edge                     of the caves of no echoes in the night             your eye glints green                 & is gone                    O Coyote                    where have you gone                    run Coyote, dammit                    we need your silver fish                    at the corner of our eye                        to leap in this night dark     your chortle in the moonlight i listen for a throated note in the wind's whistle