There          in the pond
  among the dead                 trees standing alone
           winter after winter             spring
                                 after spring      
           holding in their stripped-down arms
        nothing but wind          
                                     and on occasion
          the immense weight of stopped flight        
                          kingbird    kingfisher    redwing        
      each a kind of leafing out           a leaving

              There       not a tree     
                                           not a snapped off limb
            a bull moose        up to his neck in water
                      his rack      a high drift of wood

       Look says the world          wood is not
              wood         it is bone         velvet on bone
                    and look             
                                          says the water
                    its mouth full of lilies and mire

There              where once was a gap
                    the head of a beast
                             ears peaked now that he’s seen us         
          And now that he’s seen us         
                    turning his back    
                                                    slow-loping away      
churning the water into rings
        that make their way to us here          break
against a shore we can’t feel them
                                    breaking against        
       and in the distance          the sound of a door         
                               slamming shut