Ode to a friend

I was on a walk near your house
and saw an honest-to-god coyote
A coyote in the suburbs? From where?
Its silverfish eyes seemed to laugh, seemed to cry.
“Damned if I know where I started."
It looked like a mutated house cat; pitiable but not pitied.
I clung to my indifference like a coin purse,
and walked on.

I had a dream
You called me up: you were crying, mumbling you were sick
and had been since before I stopped noticing
you sounded like full lips and bleak eyes;
The echo of a girl I once knew

You were in your bathroom.
Your obscenely small bathroom.
Draped over your sink
Like a glossy picture, like a girl from a music video
Like white-and-purple orchids of perfection
You would have been proud
And I kissed you, not quite like a parent
And not quite like a lover but something deeper
And more strung with hatred and desire
And as your lips grew cold I held on to you tighter,
Whatever dark valley you were traveling to, I insisted on following.
But you were on a train spitting blue fog,
chugging away on remorselessly fast wheels
and I was on the platform. Rainsoaked.

I remember your green sweatshirt,
And I thought if you died, I would take it from your room
(If you still have it)
And wear it for the rest of forever
And smell you, the incense sticks in your mom’s room
And the Serbian, homemade, organic food you eat
But if you eat nothing, if you count carbs,
if you deny yourself pita and pork,
it wouldn't, couldn't be you.
And if your sweatshirt smells like fresh laundry
I will, I will take a steak knife and cut cleanly into my heart.

The ground is a painting from up here; it is a plain of possibility.
A cat may land but a coyote drops, cracks, spills out unto itself,
moans, whimpers, does not get back up.
You said you had a secret to tell me
I said yeah, sure, maybe later.

Would you jump off a cliff if everyone else was doing it?
Who, who, who is everyone?
If it’s who I think it is,
Then yes, yes, yes.