Moose-Hunting, Canadian Rockies

O loner of the moors,
instinctive affinity of spirit
and seeking wild communion
amid the majesty of the marsh
motivates my desire to meet

hence this camera-ambush of dawn and dusk,
binocular-combing of the wetlands
once, twice, again and again,
this scrutiny of leaf-flutter and shaggy logs
across the empty expanse
that yields no success, nothing at all,
although your other neighbours—
deer, elk, mountain goat, bighorn sheep—
have all said hello

I suppose
there is a time
for everything

back in Singapore,
our revels now ended,
trigger-images will have to suffice
to satisfy this haunting longing:
wildlife oil-painting fridge magnet,
Moosy bean soft toy in the car,
snaps of your stuffed ancestors
at museum mannequins,
but most of all, pedestalled,
moosehorn fern on garden trellis
a consolation prize, anti-trophy
won from roaming the plains
of disappointment, offering,

I suppose,
triumph without taint,
memory without murder

by Koh Buck Song
from The Ocean of Ambition (2003)