Another Poem

the deer at dawn

in the weak grey dawn
it was motion mostly
and phantom at that,
but the dog knew without pausing to think
and told me too
with a sharp yank.

the deer crossed the road and flashed its tail and
leapt the fence into the cemetery where
the catholics lay their dead.
it bounded over graves and scattered silk
flowers. it leapt again the silvery latticed fence,
and then the hedgerow brown and brambled,
alighting in the pasture, where the hay had been cut and newly put
away. the hunters would be prowling out there
in days to come. i wondered, did the deer
know that

or did the deer know only the scent of us
and the yip of the dog disappointed.

in the flight
of the moment,
did the deer know relief,
or perhaps even ecstasy,

or did it know just the drum of its heart,
the beads of morning misting its eyelashes,
and the sweetly sharp and pungent meadow
beneath its feet?

(thanks to RH for the drawing of this poem, notice the tiny deer running away in the upper right?)