Neffs Canyon, April
Across the dry creek bed, in drifts of silver
snow, a frozen yearling doe reclines
against the mountain slope. Her little legs
splay spindle-straight, the memory of standing
gone frost inside them. Though the snow
below begins to thaw, I want to think
her frozen, kept. A final resting place,
as if any body rests, as if
any place final. Her fur still smooth,
her eyes too and dark. Spring thaws on,
sheds the husk of headwaters down the canyon.
Avalanche lilies erupt from wet
undergrowth like yellow death knells,
bister stamen set to strike, then fall.
