How can there be these tracks
across the hardened crust of snow
and no trace of their makers?
Many have passed
or made incursions here:
elk and coyote,
rabbit shadowed by fox,
junco and jay.
I’ve built a forest of anticipation
from these remnants of data:
flights of black and white pinions,
wary and determined paws,
stately antlered shapes
among the dormant
trunks of fir.
But winter instead
presents a different parity,
where elk disintegrate
into sets of prints,
and familiar calls and twitters
reduce to scratches in the snow.
I have broken trail since Ohanapecosh.
I listen for a rustling in the trees
and stare back at the narrow grooves
my skis have cut.
Eric le Fatte
Eric le Fatte was educated at MIT and Northeastern University in biology and English, but currently hikes, writes, teaches, and does research on tiny things in the Portland, Oregon area. His poems have appeared in a number of places, including, happily enough, Tiny Seed.