Elk on the Tracks

The cow stands broadside, head turned to stare at me
an awkward stance she holds for minutes, for centuries,
as I ski slowly toward her on the long straight line of a railroad’s remains.

Swish swish, swish swish

my skis slide into evening,
into her
I am sure she will leave but she stands statute still staring
just staring.

At 30 yards the track turns toward the trees and I with it.
She has not moved
does not
stands sentinel.

I glide on
thinking I had seen the only elk
when I come upon more of the herd
brown backs to me
nuzzling into the trees like old friends
bedding down in the snow
ignoring me as I slide by

swish swish, swish swish.

I want to ski over and stay with them, join their peaceful group,
summon an ancient acceptance from a time when I was more like them.
You can never go back,
so I slip away from their future
and into my own

feeling at once
like a warrior
like a ghost.