Last night
I drove past a fawn
she was laying on the road and lifting her head up slowly
Stunned  by an oncoming car and unable to carry her
self.

A day later
I drove at dusk
the blood red shadows framed the low clouds
a large buck with a crown of time on his head
bowed beneath a tree, searching for something
lost.

The days gather
like revolving doors
till I am exhausted and unable to raise my head
Going too quick to comprehend all my packed
belongings.

I unpack my plants and books
and look up the mountain
searching for something
in the shadows of morning,
lost.