On the edge of town
oaks and pines unfold
on a spray of wetland
across my trail,

knotted catbrier pins my arms;
ten yards away a young buck, new rack,
rises up on hind legs, tongue flicking
to taste the liquid swampy air.
He lowers his legs in a smooth slow sweep,
hind feet digging into the soft ground.
His front feet touch down so gently,
I couldn't even say he dimpled the wet earth.

The buck chewing, easing into the trees,
thorns release my skin;
a slight twisting light in the brier
a sudden burst of air—
black-bronze feathers unfurl
a flash of white crescent
a subtle lean of wing and weight
a sharp scent past my nose—
its wake already closing.

That night, stretched in my bed,
I drift in half-sleep,
night folds in on day
like feathers tucked, everything touching—
I see the buck raise his long legs,
the hawk's wind lifts the hair on my arms.