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.”
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.”
