reasons why my father sent me a picture of a dead coyote
to start a conversation
to assuage my worries
to prove he knows my brand
to remind me of my mortality
to remind me of his
to be kind to the coyote
to memorialize the living
to romanticize the dead
to let me know he cares
on observing a hyacinth to distract myself from the nature of my want
stink of you your rot of two weeks
short-lived too loud but beautiful
they say you were once a boy I believe it
I imagine your boy-body also puncturing the sky
hellbent on reaching the sun
