COYOTES AT LAST MOUNTAIN LAKE

[from June 8, 2015, for Pup]

I heard the coyotes howling
as evening fell

at Last Mountain Lake,

and I thought of you,

my old wolf-pal,

and how you would tip 

your nose up to the moon

and howl mournfully

for all the wild places you loved

that we had lost.

Then you'd come to me and rest

your forehead against my knee,

wearily, for comfort.

We loved and lost so much together,

old pal of mine.

But, always, we had each other.

And now I am alone.

My nose tilted up

towards the moon,

an inner howl

expressed in secret tears.

Still missing our wild beaches.

And you.

posted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry, where they serve up wonderful poems to go with your Sunday morning coffee.