To Sasquatch

You could crunch me into bones and meat
and I would still rather track you
across the continent
than live in a city with nights broken of stars.

I can’t help searching
the mud and snow for your footprints, scat,
and tufts of mystery hair
under lonely stretches of timber.

I’ve been patient but your lurking silhouette
still doesn’t skulk between the shadows
that should be there. The only smell
is the fresh kill I carry to lure you

out in the dankest forest,
crashing through underbrush, bellowing out
your calls, and knocking against the trees
to tell you I’m losing faith.

Only the coyotes reply. I’m asking you
please silence the crickets, snap a tree in half,
and tell me I am just like you,
part of a bustling that no one believes in.