Faces down, headlamps lit,

searching for a fluorescent

red in underbrush. Sun

orange between bare trees,

while our feet work

their way through leaves.

We move slowly, in circles,

deeper into the holler.

The animal was wounded

somewhere in the dark,

alone and dying. Twigs

snapping, voices thin as

fingernails—where are you?

where are you? Soon, the world

was small enough to fit inside

my beam. I turn my head,

no blood but a gunshot beyond

my understanding of light.