You’ve written something beautifully strange here, and I mean that in the best way. The poem moves like a dream that knows exactly what it’s doing, even when the reader can’t fully explain it. Moss, birch, snow, wolves, elk, fog, all of it feels woven from the same inner weather.

A few lines really stay behind. “Trying to remember / how to be lonely / together” is excellent. So is “sadness / is just frozen hope / waiting for spring.” Those feel delicate and piercing at once.

What I admired most is the atmosphere. You trust the music of the images, and that trust pays off. The poem feels tender, haunted, and alive from beginning to end.