Get me out of here, I'm fond
Of repeating to myself,
Although I don't want to get
Away from anywhere but me.
Sequoia's in her car seat
Because she needs a long nap.
We head into the mountains
Where new snow's already old,
And orange autumn hunters
Draw beads from slush-banked roadsides
On rumors of trophy elk,
Bracing rifles in the wind.
I imagine the best elk
Can't resist posing grandly
As the circle of hunters
Closes ranks excitedly.
Every dumb prey animal
Dreams of daring transcendence.
Every escape artist dreams
Of being more tightly bound,
Too many locks without keys,
One more miracle release
From the prison of being
An escapee every time.
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