Though I Cringe When White Poets Write Poems about Coyotes

tonight one howled north

at the foot of the mountain

and its echo howled south

talking to itself, enlarging

its lonesome pack by sonic

subterfuge. One times one 

still equals one. Stopped 

in our tracks by the eerie

symmetrical tune, my dog’s 

head followed the howl back 

and forth, back and forth, 

a slow metronome.