Stag on the Lawn at Sunrise

Hooves on deck boards
wake me out
of dream, antlers

tattered, rack his long
and wandering days
like closets hung with

humble lessons, whole
and broken, he is
the story of many

seasons in these mountains,
and I know that we are
both blessed to be alive

inside the golden
stillness of a delicate
dawn.  We look

at each other
for a long time, mirror
pupils like two black

pools, quieter than
the quietest morning,
and just as softly,

he is gone,
as another
holy day unfurls

into the sunshine of itself
outside the open
window, and my heart,

in equal
parts, breaking
and opening.


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