to the deer i mortally wounded at five o clock on saturday morning in maupin oregon,

A horrifying sound tore sleep out of me that clear fall morning.
it rang and rang and rang and rang and rang like the 5 o clock church bell
in little empty nowhere town central oregon territory.
the sounds of impending death came from somewhere,
maybe they crawled from deep inside my psychotic insomniatic delusions;

foreshadowing the coming  tragedy
about five miles down the road about five minutes in the future.

my plaquey teeth dug into stale French loaf and stinking
tongue dug old butter from plastic cartridge.
while
your teeth tugged at tender grass tendrils beside mystic river warm
tongue lapped up river’s crystal clean waters

i longed to somehow cleanse myself of imaginative terror echoing sound around
as i wound through sleepy town,
'no life moves this early,' i presupposed
my thoughts found shelter amid a current obsession of mythic redside trout
swiftly rising from riverbottom at my orange stimlator siz 8 elkhair fly,
and the battle that may quite possibly follow.
if i only attain this once in a lifetime
i will be content i promise.

car continues down hill
i witness silverpink powerhungry **** of river flowing
omnipotent sherars falls roaring below me.

slit eyes fixated themselves on picturesque sunrise
as temporary monument jumpstarting new life from those cold old bold nights

too-nice car took potholes and washboard trail efficiently,
it sped bumping onward upstream bleary eyed coffeelessness.
heavy eyes, when not periodically closed, focused on roaring river
to my right and pink sunrise to my up, canyon walls lit up pink limestone
awakened each new day discovered.

rude too-nice car kicked up pesky dust.
i was mid-apologizing to any creature it bothered this early in the morning when
my left eye captured

you (adult black tail doe, perfect purity)

rocketrun from the left bank spooked by
unnatural sounds
caused by
machinery technology engine tires internal combustion radiator hammering cylinders
my hands twitch left on wheel attempting to swerveavoid

you(adult black tail doe, perfect purity)

attempt to dash uproad away escape
diamond hoofs dig but not enough
car slams into your right front shoulder
buckles, cracking
your depthless black eyes
glisten with surprise
pain, doom
courses through your sinewy perfect muscular
body
i gasp and drive off fifty feet low speed

my rearview mirror reveals that you will not walk this one off.
instead you suffer deeply, immensely,
jumping wildly, falling into dust, getting up, flailing, falling
striking pink sunrise behind you silhouettes your broken movement so very clearly.

car inches onward i honestly know not the correct ethic
“never approach a wounded animal” and
“you ******* coward put it out of its misery its not dead it is suffering you half killed it it didn’t deserve it you half killed it you ******* you should die in its place
you killed mother nature herself”

i had no gun, only a hunting knife, fishing gear, old french bread
if i had a gun i don’t know if i could have shot you dead
my shaking hands and teared eyes would fare me poorly

i drove off slowly, leaving you to die there in ****** pink sunrise
alone, suffering
crying out this terrible cry,
stealing it from my previous nights dreams
my too-nice car inches around corner until you are visually out of sight
i am not crying externally but internally i am a tempest of emotion,
i smash black dashboard with fists screaming at myself static noise i can hear nothing time stops
“i killed it i killed her why didnt i see her”
i try to convince myself it all didn’t happen
and failed
i try to convince myself you live
and failed

the guilt i bear is immense
you were undeserving
you are eternally etched now
you are a deserved scar
we are forever connected

i now cradle your still warm carcass within eternal arms of my subconcous
my metafingers lightly touch your left broken shoulder bones
death stole you like it steals all, untimely, undeserving, brutal.

~

a crystal cradle slowly falls,
from an indigo sky;
coyote’s distant howl,
blends his primal song,
with the whoot, whoot of the owl;
desert minstrels, keeping beat,
with cricket and cicada’s chorus.
above, a dark horse grazes,
in a field of ancient stars;
and below, encroaching mists
gather in the waving grasses,
crouching... waiting to devour,
all who venture near.
the endless whisperings,
of the brook, stream of
ageless waters, tell of tales
of distant ice and snow,
far above these thirsty plains.
aurora’s blend their magic,
their enchanting flame,
dancing in the rising ethers;
mesmerizing sleepy eyes,
a shepherdess is lulled away;
transported by her distant dreams.
dawn’s approach she fails to hear,
’til it's much too late;
when songbirds of the desert,
now seated in this orchestra,
sing her sleeping soul awake.

~

*post script.

watching the set of a cradle moon on a late night return from the rolling hills of Central Oregon’s high desert last month prompts just enough lines to keep these images alive, until i am able to give them complete thought and words this morning.  aside from fatigue, i love driving at night.  197’s winding crossing down to the Deschutes at Maupin and then it's descent into The Dalles beside a wide Columbia; these, and my longing to be home beside my wife, keep me from sleep driving, alone with my thoughts and imagination.  though rare to Oregon, there are times of year when the aurora borealis pushes its way far enough south to be viewed on moonless nights.