Coyote,

squinting in the bright afternoon,

For four days we will tromp on trail, single file, ascending and descending. But first my wife and I stand side by side and bow together. We bow to the place herself, and to her innumerable names and forms. Place en-creatured, place en-planted, place en-stoned, en-watered, en- weathered, en-fungied, en-peopled, en-spirited. Each step is also a bow. Tens of thousands of bows in thirty miles of wild walking.

A bat in the Zendo

Flaps around in circles

And chants in inaudible frequencies

At the graveyard gate

I pray and sing an old song

Into the wild rain