Away from the house & yard
the deer seem larger
almost powerful
like the doe who stepped into
the middle of the old woods road
one morning after a heavy snowfall
her puffs of breath
barely rising in
the still air as
she turned her head to look
beyond me
& I would’ve seen it
had she brushed against so much
as a twigful of powder
when again the thick laurel
closed around her
*
envoi
stock-still
in the eyes of a wandering doe I’m
a tree among trees
on this fresh page a single letter
or less
a diacritical mark
a part
of whatever poem remains
when all the world’s prose gets edited out