My Deer

Somewhere,

A deer lifts its head from the dewy grass
because the birds fall silent.
Another pauses among the ferns,
its ears turning toward the quietest change
in the words of the woods.

They move delicately towards
one another,
not from fear, but from honour for
a world larger than themselves.

When dawn touches the field,
they drink from the same stream
where the water holds the fragments
of clouds and branches.

They stand close,
not because they cannot stand alone,
but because there is something intimate
about witnessing the same thing
at the same time.

A ray of sunlight through the trees.
A flower blooming amongst the grass.
The first snow settling on the branches.

The seasons pass over them as
softly as their shadows follow.

Still, they return to the same meadow,
the same clearing,
the same togetherness of
their two lives moving gently through
the mystery of living.

Perhaps this is the secret that the forest keeps,
not their names,
nor the length of their days shared,
but the small, tender moments
when two hearts pause,
together,
and notice the world.

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