Masonic creature. Maker. Water encircled
survivor of hat crazes. Crib fabricator.
Chiseller. Tooth enamel’s hardest expression
on any branch of the mammal clade. Stash house
builder. Stickler. Worker in wands and twigs,
in waterproof slick fur. Dammer of the catchment
under winter constellations that burn and flicker
when dark and frost resume the Northern hemisphere.
Your ice creche. Your infinity pool of the woods.
Your gnawing that forks panic through the sap.
Your assault on the vertical. Busybody at rest
locked in your latticework, the birch tar scent
of Shalimar locked in you – how could any forest
forget such a creature? You need no introduction.
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