Inside a snowy blanket which put the trees to sleep, I heard a
Out past the window’s ice coat in the morning, I found a sleeping
There are men in yellow kitchens watching hands of brown-eyed
while men in orange jackets dream in secret, of capturing a fawn.
When I was younger I was taught, but have forgotten, sweet
When I am older I will learn, in necessity, the light-footedness
Someone left a lily on my doorstep, eggshell white with specked
the card of introduction said the flower’s name was Fawn.
Sages wonder if it’s possible for men to turn to animals.
I wonder if they’ve pondered the agility of fawns.