Sleeping Out by Jane Routh

[bitsofbeauty.livejournal.com]

Sleeping Out
Jane Routh

No wind in the pines —
I didn’t believe the forecast
yet pulled my bivvy bag
part-way under the awning
where I could still see the stars.

When I woke, it had snowed
a light coverlet on me; more
— say two inches — on the ground
and melting already
so the tracks of a creature

which had stalked round
my unknowing body
were hard to decipher,
their indents collapsing:
four-toed I thought —

a fox’s most likely
or were the prints wider,
the tread of a wildcat?
Some moist muzzle
had leaned close by my head

breathing my breath
and eavesdropping dreams
while taking my measure
along and back then around
— much the same as the way

I might sniff at a spraint
or track deer-slots
to a lair, as if I might
bed down too, try out
how the world feels from there.