Tuesday Poem

Form in the woods: the beast,
a bobcat padding through red sumac,
the pheasant in break or goldenrod
that he stalks – both rise to the flush,
the brief low flutter and catch in air;
and trees, rich green, the moving of boughs
and the separate leaf, yield
to conclusions they do not care about
or watch – the dead, frayed bird,
the beautiful plumage,
the spoor of feathers
and slight, pink bones.

by Jim Harrison
from The Shape of the Journey
Copper Canyon Press, 1998