Monday, August 29, 2011

Ta'c meeywi (good morning)

the delicate thunder
of feral apples and

rain at three in the
morning. by night lightning,

a buck reaches – and
in the morning,

a fresh browse line! and
a calling card – if you

know how to read it.
the message is simple.

just a line of pellets
left behind to say,

“you know who it was
. . . yes, he was here.”