— in Glacier National Park, Montana

Leaves, like gravel on a road, are rounding
yellow now, falling, spraying, becoming
something else. Names are only guesses.

In East Glacier, the white-bark pines on the
summit have curled into gray skeletons rising
from the scree. Branches, now barkless, now
weathered and gnarled and needleless, become
surroyal antlers, bay antlers, pearls, tines, brow
lines. Brow lines breaking the rock line,
a hillside of antlers shed.

In East Glacier, a wing is now a rock is now a
brush of dust. Vascular tissue is velvet, turned
hard bone, become mating season, become
shedded evidence of a stag in relief. Now a
weathered horn of wood.