Winter 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 1 Poetry |

A Thing Forgotten

What we had known about has goneinto hiding—or maybe into a fieldbeyond us. We find its tracks in snow,its litter and scats. It never belongedto us, though we gave it water and food and acted with generosity—or so we thought. The landscape turnsagainst us now. You would think we hadoffended it with solicitudeor stolen its right to be opaque around us. Now its rocks rejectour love. Its streaks ignore our longing.

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