Now is the moment in summer
when fragrant spring clouds disappear.
Descending the gorge's depth,
scrambling in dusk, it's easy
to mistake them for cats—
that is— glossy ones:
stripes going up on black,
or raccoons in shadows.
This evening a solitary male
with a tapered streaked forehead
grubbed for larva
Then we strolled out.
Growling, his globed nose
dropped, thick tail lifted.
In front of the cave
the skunk seized the gully,
trumpeting like a lily of water.