BUFFALO TRAIL
Like a forgotten puff of snow
a skull rests in a tangle of beaver carpentry
beside the dwindling trail.
In the grey juncture of day with night,
when I have laid aside my arrows,
the leaf-stained, bog-water creek
mirrors scimitar horns, ponderous heads,
shaggy beards jostling for place . . .
Untracked mud borders the creek
but my ears pound with the fever
of their breathing.
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