Gene Auprey
LOST

I looked for you, when snow was fresh
and depressions left, pooled with scent,
expecting a bell voiced hound to drive
a bobcat round a cedar swamp.
When beaver swam beneath black ice
to feed-beds packed with poplar tops,
your snares did not impede their way.
I listened, when the moon was bright
for the mimicry of a dying hare;
searched blue shadows at forest edge
for your hunkered form. It wasn't there.

I found snowshoes, ash grey, gut lace
gnawed through by mice, behind the shed.
The dogs are gone, some dead, some sold
to pay for living beyond ones prime.

If memory holds, I'll try again
when birches bend branch to ground
to unconfound your aged back-trail.

<< return to the Table of Contents for New Series #1: Summer 2008, Volume 1 Number 1