The Chase

Lately
every time I hike,
my dog
finds
a deer leg.
Slender
when it muscled
through ponderosa forest,
now little remains,
except for hoof
and shinbones, attached
by tendon and fur.
The beasts of the woods
have already hauled off
all they can devour.
As far as flesh goes,
it’s slimpickings—
not even a thimbleful.
But my dog is satisfied.
At home,
resting his head
on his forelegs,
he hungers
contentedly
as he dreams
of the chase.

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