Deer
It's the refrain of life that keeps humming
your doe eyes, hoofs, your freckled coat.
It's the ghost of a smile draped from your snowy
lips. These tender circadian frequencies―
your den is nestled under heavenly wing.
It's the early dawn you slip out into, casting shadows
on the dew, while the lost nocturnes drift overhead.
The chatter of the leaves as you bend your neck,
put your nose to the ground. It's the crack of a twig,
your stiff jaunt upwards, your bristling ears,
your whisper, Why?
Friday, December 12
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