Sustenance

I tracked it through the one mind of  the woods.

Its hoofprints pressed in snow were smallish hearts.

Buck fawn: he let me come so near, take aim.

Crouched against a fir, I was anything.

Bush, stump, doe in estrus he could rut.

Not his maimer, though, not his final thought.

He stared me down until I shot him: low.

Then the forest forgot he’d ever been.

Nascent, there were signs: bonechip, spoor, frail hair.

But no memory, wounded, wants to die.

He hid in the dark timber, twice crossed the creek.

Finally he lay heaving out last breaths.

Dusk-cast shadow, he died where he was made.

A bite of  heart sustains but is not him.