Old Miniatures

L. Vroman

A bundle of orange flames
stands in the upper sky.
Two deer, gold, black, shy,
play their bashful games.

Patterns of little flowers
melt and recrystallize
and in the distance rise
belled and bannered towers.

The deer had been trotting around.
Now they stand still and begin
to breathe from skin to skin;
feeling approaches sound.

Peace is here preserved
of sadly long ago;

peace, and even so
the black deer now has swerved.

And now there is gold on its horns,
gold splashes the leaves
and a trail of gold weaves
away under weeds and thorns.