Eight points to its rack,
a bull elk stands mounted
on a ridge before white columns
of leafless aspens
mixed in the yearlong green
of lodge pole pines
creaking in the same wind
smoothing snow downhill
into the endless valley.
I can neither move ahead
nor backtrack under marbled sky
for fear the bull might join cows
seated unseen under forest arches.
The bull, taking its time,
breaks the snow’s crust
leaving a curving trail
into memories of fallen trees.