The goofy Moose, the walking house frame,
Is lost
In the forest. He bumps, he blunders, he stands.

With massy bony thoughts sticking out near his ears –
Reaching out palm upwards, to catch whatever might be
falling from heaven –
He tries to think,
Leaning their huge weight
On the lectern of his front legs.

He can’t find the world!
Where did it go? What does a world look like?

The Moose
Crashes on, and crashes into a lake, and stares at the
mountain and cries:
‘Where do I belong? This is no place!’

He turns dragging half the lake out after him
And charges the crackling underbrush

He meets another Moose
He stares, he thinks: ‘It’s only a mirror!’
‘Where is the world?’ he groans. ‘O my lost world!

And why am I so ugly?
And why am I so far away from my feet?’

He weeps.
Hopeless drops drip from his droopy lips.
The other Moose just stands there doing the same.
Two dopes of the deep woods.

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