Through Montana on my motorbike I was actually alone,
nothing with me but my climbing boots, a sixer and a knife.
I couldn't tell you if I saw the moose stepping out into the road that night,
if his eyes looked like two fireflies, or reflectors on an ugly sign.
But when I opened my eyes again it had been removed;
an ancient, angry antler from this punctured lung.
It had narrowly missed a beating heart and an electric spinal cord.
Awake some nights, I think about the moose stepping out onto the yellow line,
and if he saw a bright white headlight or if it looked just like the moon
moving in towards him for the first time in a long life of solitude.
nothing with me but my climbing boots, a sixer and a knife.
I couldn't tell you if I saw the moose stepping out into the road that night,
if his eyes looked like two fireflies, or reflectors on an ugly sign.
But when I opened my eyes again it had been removed;
an ancient, angry antler from this punctured lung.
It had narrowly missed a beating heart and an electric spinal cord.
Awake some nights, I think about the moose stepping out onto the yellow line,
and if he saw a bright white headlight or if it looked just like the moon
moving in towards him for the first time in a long life of solitude.