a lone elk
crossed the river
last night
within sight
of my window,
a migration
of one under a
drawing moon
i read the news
this morning
in signs she left
moving
through snow
and willows
and bristling
villages of
wild rose stalks
and, for a while,
along the trail
i have made over
days and nights
on my own
solitary
migrations
the mirrored commas
of her signature
superseded
the imprint of
my boot heel,
professing a
prior claim
then straight away
she crossed
the river,
though not with
hopes held close
like the fox
or the deer
who take the
narrow chances
held up by ice over
silver water
her steps
showed
no sign
of pausing
on the edge
of the future
to tally the odds,
or map the depths
or sweep her eyes
up and downstream
in search of
perfection
here
now
on
and
into
the dark and
surging current
she went
the way of
her life
unbroken
by doubt
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