Behind an island lodge of branches,
the beaver moon crouches
mixing mud and cloud debris
into a scent mound star.
Landscapes the night sky
to mark his territory
above a downstream dam of trees,
knowing this drudgery
may mean life or death;
he is industrious.
In night’s rimy sky,
he survives
by flapping his paddle-like tail,
mouth and eyes sealed
behind flaps of skin.
Without hesitation,
he dives again
for how long is anybody’s guess;
he is well-accustomed
to holding his breath.
©2023 | K.Hartless
Cover Art: iStock samposnick
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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