rort

When it’s my turn to sleep, I dream of a coyote. 
It follows me around the rooms of the home. 

I have no idea what it wants with me, 
nor who is hiding beneath that fur. 

I wake up with my heart beating in its (rib)cage; 
it seems almost like it intends to take flight as if it were a hummingbird. 

Unfortunately, it’s a heart instead.
And the scavenger is me.