DEER PASSAGE

Can’t you just smell the wildness of the bear
as she follows the fresh deer tracks across
the highway into the woods under
the frozen dime of a moon near
where we notice together, in separate
compartments of the universe,
the soft sun fill the room with
an affluent clarity.

It is morning. The doe leaves
separate tracks that become
in the gathering warmth, small Eucharistic
pools of melting snow shadow. On the trail,
I blush & kiss my wife’s hand & its thousand
myths come apart in my mouth as
sound tracks to an unbroken marriage.
We follow the silent doe’s dream as if she
had appeared as a sorcerer in a Spanish
cave painting, kissed her first winter’s
desert dusk & made her way across the
ghost highway accompanied by a procession
of solstice headlights.




bio