All the world wants for water—
men from rivers and 
tree roots from earth’s wells

all the world wants for water—
but we are coyotes, brother
nourished by the salt in the desert

nourished by the prickly pears
and watering holes that vanish under
the sunbeam’s thieving arms

we are coyotes, brother
fighting scorpions and chasing hares until
our paws bled on the jagged rocks known as home

all the world wants for water, brother—
and though thirsty, we tell stories to the antelopes
about our lands, and our rivers, and our mothers, and our losses

and when the stories vanish, with the thieving sun, with the rivers
we race back along the canyon edge, along the dried riverbeds
to the mountains, to our birthright

there we dance under the moonlit, star-painted, big sky 
and collapse with the desert’s sweet exhaustion
knowing that all the world wants for water—

and we are coyotes.