I thought the world held answers—
that I could learn the code of winter ravens’
caws, trace the notes of swallows’ nests
high up in the bluff
So I crept over the forest’s thick moss—
following rabbits as they raced
to their burrows, stuffing wild berries
in my mouth like a summer bear.
When it rained, I sought shelter
under fallen trees and imagined slim weasels
slipping through thick bracken,
speckled shells between small sharp teeth.
I found no clarity, only random moments—
when a blue whale breached in the gray inlet
or a porcupine, quills flat to its sides,
scuttled through a darkening forest
and Canadian Geese
cut arrows through crimson—
Then I caught something soft and unspeakable,
held it close, like an injured animal,
and felt the slow beating
of an alien heart.