To Stand Amidst the Porcupine

They say it’s the toughest part, a callous.

For millennia, they trudge through spring snow.

Endlessly breaking through crust, after crust,

After crust, after crust. In time, will the

Callous soften?  Weakened under the weight

of our doing, not theirs.  Though the caribou have

Been fighting a war of attrition amongst the

Elements beyond the comprehension of today

Or tomorrow; they are weak. Long betrayed,

It’s those that don’t carry guns which

Threaten them the most.

Somewhere beyond roads, buildings, and businesses,

The great migrations still lurk.  Thousands.  Human

Parallels would call it an Exodus, an Evacuation;

For only flight in the sense of fear could a movement

Of Human’s compare; refugees.  Though they cross-lands

Unknown and unseen, they define what’s

Most important to the preservation of our dignity. 

Through squinted eyes the caribou becomes part of the

Natural world.  Part of the landscape. To stand in a

Field of caribou is to feel suspended above your own dream.