On the walk I'm the elk returning to the path that leads down to the
water, winds up to the overlook, the mountain precipice, mountains
in the distance between here on the summit of Denny Park and there--
the Olympic Peninsula where we took shelter once, ran away
from routine, before I know I'll miss this plat--covered now in asphalt,
built-up, million dollar houses, no kids playing in the cul de sac.
Again I return like the elk who looks beyond the set of tri-levels,
remembers in her genes how the tree stands, the rains fall, wind's caress.