I clawed my way to the tip of the branch to look down at the
campfire. The pine smoke came up through my nostrils into
the shadows of my conscious mind. I closed my eyes and
sprang into the air, feathers cutting through night and
through smoke, in silence, but I felt that the whole world
could see me. I landed in another tree, different yet
similar, and hid my beak under a wing, to sleep and forget.


I dreamt I was a two-legged coyote, rubbing sticks, making
fire, laughing and praying and making love. I hunted deer
with a sharp stick, and shouted in fury at the wild things
in the night. I ate bitter medicine, and let the totem live
in me again. My kin gathered around me and their painted
faces became one, of wild eyes and speckled feathers, and it
devoured my anger.

I woke with dry eyes and a craving for mouse.