Solitary Coyote

She materializes from behind 
a curtain of dead trees 
and lounges, exposed, alongside 
the potted geraniums on
the flagstone patio
looking feral and well fed.
Bristling with confidence
she scratches an itch 
with her back paw.

This must be the beast who 
abandoned the faun torso,
bloody entrails trailing,
staining the flags last week.
A corpse so heavy 
on my shovel that 
I dropped that burden
when I hauled it across 
the lawn to the woods
and worried that the stink 
would linger for weeks 
in the humid summer air. 

I track her narrow snout.
Yellow eyes and ears alert
to the whirr of traffic
and the surround sound trill
of birds mating.

Does she have a mate or pups 
waiting for her at the den?
Or is she a solitary coyote
at rest for a moment 
in open air.