Day seven,
warm rains still come,
speckled deer restless
and asking to nurse,
their mother porous, agitated,
chafing against old black elm,
too-sweet maple, and
birch that has peeled itself
after a long and listless season.
Everything now soaked
through the skin.
Everything down
to cell and bone.
Everything knowing,
from some sad instinct,
the world is not as it was.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright October 1, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
