“A deer is at my feeder”:
The first words I see
This morning.

I know the deer:
He has traveled from a pellucid spring
Across the snow-covered mountains
Of sleeping imagination
Through fields
Thick with the tall grasses of hope
Across swift-moving rivers of endless work
That nevertheless pool around 
The fallen stars of the Little Dipper
To the intersection of our lives
In the soft and warm sand
Pulled by time into the sea
To stand alone, vast and open and sunny.

Will he drink from your birdbath?
I wonder.
I watch the fearless hunter Actaeon
In my imagination.
I watch Artemis the hunter.
“She stomped her feet in warning.
She turned on the security lights.”
Stay away, her falling feet

You watched.
We watch.

Who is the hunter?
The hunted?
Naked beauty--all power and grace.

Earth vibrates under your footfall.
We will watch.
Let the dogs come.