FIVE SMALL SKETCHES
When the sun has gone behind the hills
a doe comes to grass. Her fawn follows.
Their two coats shine, lanterns in the dusk.
The hollows of the rise show
beneath the green blanket.
My hand wants to stroke
her tender hip, wake her gently.
iii The Bare Trees Consider Leaves
Why should they want them?
This is who they really are.
No false gestures. Not afraid.
The stream must hurry to the bottom
of the hill. Behind her, the snow
melts fast, honking his horn.
v Two Hungers
A robin pulls the protesting worm.
Why did it crawl towards the light
on the surface of the lawn?