The Drifting
I shall wait for the Ruby-Throated
Hummingbird
until the distant months of
spring
arrive
now usurped by the fourth season
Poplar undressed
in winter
attire
wolves passing my
window
saying nothing of your
absence
with the
exception
of one mostly black
one
they do not know you.
Cooking a venison
steak
from my son's first
deer
I do not remember my
last
but I suspect it was
near
40 years ago
when I somehow
lost that part of me
my father worked so
hard to instill.
Now as an old man
it has returned and I
fill the freezer
with
sustenance from the
land
and waters
where my species are more
scarce than Ravens
which suits me
often
when I remember what
your world did to me.
K. Carter
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