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By Jacob Bell

Is it not certainly tired to describe a provincial animal and a moment in time and its death so markedly? But there driving down the highway half paying attention thoughts so far away and wondering at my own ability to winter-drive and there coming down into the depression and past the first stop light a police light flashing flashing and me wondering what is it there? And seeing then as I approach and the police lights past my forward vision a moose a very large animal there the size of two horses and it moves back and forth must have been hit by another vehicle and the police officer in the neon vest has deposited some sort of a shot into its head and the moment I pass the hole is there in its head and it moves breathfully towards the sky seems to meander in its flexings towards the moons a gaping hole evident from afar and it seeking the everything it needs please give it to me there is nothing there for it four legs plugging along in the air and the police man walking staunchfully back to his door the legs kick kick kick and the tongue out dragging below the bullet wound below the two normal eyes and wondering what this all is to me me wondering back what this all is to us why my night has been so put down in such a way.

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