by Hedy Carra
We had to look into the rising sun to see you
|Himalayan Tahr Goat|
crossing the dry creek bed
and then our empty field
at the end of autumn when there is little to browse
and we have plowed up any grass that remained.
You crossed the empty expanse
without looking right or left,
presenting us your profile—
haughty or stoic or perhaps distraught—
and went straight up the next hillside you came to.
How did you get
from your majestic mountains
to our scrubby hills where
we are used to our everyday does and bucks,
our quail, fox, raccoons and squirrels?
Now every day we ponder why such a visitor
walked through our life one misty morning.