224/365: Elk

morning through the trees

Elk drift swift
back through thick trees.
Broad racks barely skim leaves.
Tool vanity and dexterous fingers
barely fend for us here
while these thrive beyond the noise of our plotting,
and, look now:
through the dim shift
he is lost to us already.
Not even the crack of fallen wood
will tell us his story.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com