to the doe, last night on the lawn
you are me - broke and mending

on her snow write down blank
the hooves color
the clementines you strike

and with your spears
its darling blood drips jumping
the fencing listed toward

and you made me so sleepy,
the tresspass I had wished

from inside each wide eye
was a True Violet, and very wet

each wires my sleepy gloves
hung on you, and then to live
at the end of this, dear season.