Doe, LaPine OR

She emerges
softly from pines,
and finds

the cracked corn
at haymow’s edge.
Her fawns

are behind her
in soft cover,
known to nose

and flank.
She lingers
as I hoped

she would do.
Might I appear to her
as transcendent

as she is to me?
Does she also hope
I will not bolt

and remain
in place
as simple grace?

from y Nada Mas: Poems for a Pandemic © Jon Obermeyer 2020

photo: author