Climbing Sleeping Buffalo

We make our way by icy switchbacks.

Ravens float above,

Angling their heads, calling strangely.

We've heard that they warn wolves

Of danger, a sort of dance

That sends the wolves away.

Under the ravens' sky

A coyote barks; and we go on,

Valleys to the right, the left,

For an hour, and then the top -

Sky and wind and rock. One bent pine,

From which we hear a sudden shift

Where, close to the ground,

A round black eye stares

And doesn't move.

We eat our apples, slowly

Making out white rabbit shape,

Leaving our cores

Exposed on rock.

Overhead, the ravens fly,

Calling out our names.