I’m home, you could see me throughthe kitchen window washing my daughter’s dishesmy hands are busy but I’m looking at the elkon the face of the mountainI know nothing about elk, but herewe are, at any given momentthere must be countless allegoriesbut I’m only interested in oneam I home or am I only visiting? I am throughwith asking, I’m at the center of a cul-de-sacwind sweeps through the aspen like a hisswe are in our own snow cupmelted to the summer people we really areI am answering for myselfHissssssssssss of the aspen, at the beginningof which could, I suppose, be anythingcul-de-sac, just as well, a saucer, rising up,up to the summit, it’s possible I’ve never beenhigher, I feel it, I’m really leaving nowmoving through the told story