The Deer

There was a deer

On the path in front of me.

Her light tread, so delicate,

brought her just ahead of thought.


A silver sliver chiseled off of time

Chose to stand there, head bowed to the ground.

Behind her, the sun bounced off cars’ hoods in the parking lot.

Their paint jobs made good mirrors for perfection, though they weren’t machined for it;

They were only machined to be Good Enough.

What’s a deer machined for?

To stand there in the sunlight like an angel,

Of death and beauty all in one moment.

Seeing her, I dissolved into the blue sky

And my dark heart was enlightened

My heavy feet brought down to nothingness

To see the Thing that walked on the cracked pavement and made it beautiful

To see the pelt that held the low scent of pine needles and the humus they become

To see the Form that says that magic word of primordial uselessness, that lights the fire and makes the dewdrops gleam like diamonds in the grass.

I saw the circle

left over

When she bounded away.


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