If you could

fawn hoof


The ghosts of fawns
haunt roadways where
countless, careless cars ruined
their immaculate forms, where
does stood vigil, bewildered
by their sudden stillness.

The ghosts of fawns
are prey in secret gulches, they
are tufts of coarse fur, they
are bleached bones, they
are perfect cloven hooves
small as your thumb.

Your hand, your tender hand, could
hold all four, could
press them to your sad heart,
your strong heart. Your
living lungs could
make of ragged breath
a prayer God feels
compelled to answer

and restore their
unblemished bodies, prick
their immense velvet ears, bring light
once more to their innocent eyes.

This you could do again and again,
where the ghosts of fawns haunt roadways,
where their unlived lives weight secret gulches.

Oh, how you would delight the does!






  1. Takes the breath away.


    1. Thanks, dear Jane.


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