I dream wilderness,
for I am wild, which then dreams
me into being.
There is something living
under the porch, in a tree stump we brought
from Haliburton, then Toronto, and then here —
so you see, it could be anything.
It is the highlight of our evenings, hearing
the scuttle-gnawing while we smoke.
We go still and silent, straining to hear and see,
wishing only to make its acquaintance,
at least to know its face.
We put down flour to see its footprints.
We found the old video camera. We gave gifts
of peanut butter on bread, and seeds.
We left the light on, and the camera on, and our hopes on,
full of anticipation to see
who this creature is, for no matter what
we will not be disappointed.