On Meeting Ghosts Amid The Pine Poem by Gordon R Menzies

The crumbling ridge falls bare in the April sun
where the snow, in surrender, runs to the river
and red-bellied robins spring from the juniper
flashes of flame in the dappled morning light
you and I pick our way, breathing the green
as our feet break through the crusted snow
and we can smell them before we see them
elk passing through the pines like ghosts
you pause there with your backpack and stick
look back at me with blue eyes wonder wide
my smile splits through solemn grey whiskers
you are like a nymph in a winter woodland
my feet become cloven hoofs there again
and we, and the black-backed spring robins
balance our morning herding wildland kine
the buck stares me down, I show my horns
we've fought this fight before, he and I, and
being bettered, he keeps his women moving