I found a man with a rifle walking
the charred tundra, mad for game.
He had killed & he had also
bled. The day slipped into night,
he said, wildly, & I lost one.
I am a ranger, I said,
having to say something.
He looked scurrilous
& I lifted my old, burnished pistol
from its holster. What a glorious country,
the man said, weeping now.
I am a ranger, I repeated.