North Woods

A cold October morning,
Following the rustle of the dogs
As they chase the scent
Of where the grouse and woodcock
Used to be

Passing the deer beds
In the rolling field
And the stalk of a tree
Rubbed naked of bark
By some compulsive, absent elk

Spying the wild and massive tangle
Of a vacant eagle's nest
Lopsided from its own weight;
Finding in the road the furtive prints
Of a fox with a secret and a plan

The substance of things hoped for;
The evidence of things not seen