A brown mule deer, waiting all winter
for this tall spring-flowered grass,
steps from my sight, devouring the landscape.

I cannot tell if light west wind tossles
the ripened heads of fortuitous stalks,
or the hunger-driven workings of
his mandibles gives me this impress.

I see some of myself in him when I look.
The oaks are breeding precious leaves.
The hawks defend their air space,
hover in shrinking circles.

This narrowing unique valley,
locked away, so far from anybody,
and yet close to the places where I think
we all would like to be.

The hills of the central valley are so many.
Enough of them keep rolling that I know
one rolls for whoever has tired of winter.

Soon the deer will be fat.
The grass will flip back to brown,
and nobody will come visit for many months.
This is how seasons turn.

Have you ever tried to fall asleep half kissed?
It's as if while you lay there in bed, you know you need someone to hold onto you, or you will fall, or drift away

But no one is there to to be your anchor

And so night after night you sink
As the storm tossles the sea above
And when you try to cry out for help - a lifeline - the salty water stings your throat and burns your eyes
And your tears are the last bit of humanity in yourself you remember
Before the dark ocean settles you to the bottom
And you forever lie there
Forgotten, and half kissed