TO TAKE BREAD AT MY HAND

Forget who was the deer,

and who the hunter with salted palm.

Forget who bent to lick,

and crouching, was transformed.

Still, the deer remembers

the danger and the draw of hunger-

muzzle coaxed to trusting

her body's slow advent.

It was no dream: she walked

here then on human legs, in form

the hunter's dreaming eyes

believed continual.

In these woods, nakedness

is prey. The hunter's vision, captured,

is quick and lost in light.

What remains: the clouding

breath of deer who have lost

their garments of enchantment, hair

and gowns returned to fur,

and their bare feet, to hooves.

Structure

20 lines · 5 stanzas