I am trying to tell you something
but the fire in my mouth has lost its
oxygen. I am all unstruck flint &
lost potential. & I’m no good at this
settling for beauty. Anxious animals
pour from the tree line into the cross
–hairs & I am trying to tell you I am
more than the men before me. Yes,
I plant my feet firm & as unreliable;
but just this once I’ll try to hold you
how a doe holds the forest in place.
Dead, dying, or free, for now, how a
doe holds, is held by what it holds.

John Sibley Williams