July Moose

We had not met
since January snow
and there we were
in the July sun—
she, in the water
stretching out all four legs,
rooting herself to the mud
and dipping her head
to take what she needed
from the river’s floor—
I, in my car
staring from the road above
admiring how she
shrugged off
the pointing paddlers,
assigning them no
importance,
as if to say, If a
girl can’t
spread her limbs
and stand her ground
in the stretched out days
of summer,
when?
How will she hold fast,
what will she do
as the light shrinks
back
and autumn leaves
tangle
round her ankles
again?