Word Anger

Sitting down to write this I have
fifty words for underwear
to show off, a hundred words
for hate to drop on the floor,

but not one for Falcon’s intently
focused attack, nothing for Weasel’s
blithe indifference working a roadside,
nothing rhymes with Winter Wren’s

intricate song trinkling out of the darkness
between sword ferns and cedar stumps,
and there’s no word for the suffering
when Coyote sings to the Rabbit in the Moon.