Coyotes roam the canyons of concrete,
Sniffing into bushes and drainage tunnels
Leaving prints and scat on muddy runnels.
Seldom can you see them from the street.
Pushed into the interstices by fate
In a lifeless world not of their creation
They survive by wit and adaptation
And each is faithful to its mate.
At night they crawl through tears in fences.
Perhaps a garbage bag may yield a bone,
Or they may find a pet left out alone.
Their let their search be guided by their senses.
Patient, they make do until the time when
The land beneath the moon be theirs again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who is the invader and who invaded? Nice poem Chuck