Deep in the forests of Finland
where humans rarely go
are sometimes found unusual tracks
curving across the snow;
they’re rather like those of the stoat
but each is twelve inches by nine
And often nearby there’s a tuft of blue hair
caught in the bark of a pine.
If you spend a few years with the locals,
persuade them you’re discrete,
they may whisper of the iceweasels
that pad on hairy feet.
They say they live on baby elk;
cloaked by the night they creep,
and ever-so-softly snap the spines
of fawns while they’re asleep.