Doe, pass under mine arms—let me
to stroak—stalks of down sown in row by
row to the pits prepared in its skin—oh,
how smooth to stroak. She nestles her head
in a hollow of water, and lavendered flow
delivers water to her throat; she
drinks and drinks and her down is
watered, soil of her hide is soaked.
Deer, pass under mine arms—loves to
wrestle, this one does, makes his muscles
frict and rub, bones to clatter and bang.
I peck fingers in, into the neck, to find the
thrashing vein—he breaks in a scream from
my rolling grip. He ducks his head now in the
minted mantle, and raises horns all smirched;
tears mix in his matted face, he turns and turns
about; rope-drawn in tight circuit by Fury—
capricious and bat-winged, laughing old
Fury. A passel of arrows coats his side
and stops him—mates I do expect—
Fury flits away, unfollowed, into
the covered wood.
-2003
