MOTHER DEER 

We do what we can 
and meanwhile, 
the white-tailed doe has woken early 
to forage for her baby 
whom she has left hiding in the bushes. 

She is not worried 
because the angel trees will keep watch 
until she returns. 

Into the still-night air she goes, 
nose brushing the ground, 
ears twitching at every break of silence. 

She feeds and she runs and she feeds again, 
all of it with thoughts of her sweet fawn 
curled in the tall grass. 

She could have lived some other life, 
a blue bird, a fox, or a field mouse. 
I suppose she could have even been one of us.

But it wouldn’t have mattered. 

In every single one 
her heart would still beat,
her body thirst. 

She'd dream a hundred different ways, 
life would still be full of pleasure, 
and she'd still need to learn to trust someone. 

~ Ali Gengarella

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LATE SUMMER RETURNS 

I know what you’re thinking.
That these things hardly matter.

But the catmint has wandered 
three times farther since June, 
and the hydrangeas aged 
a dusty shade of pink.

There is a shimmer 
brushed across the grass,
which was once only dust, 
and every color has arrived
from cold and empty earth.

What a surprising way 
to enter this world.
Much too spiritual 
for my eyes to take in.

My heart.

I have never been so happy 
to be ignored 
than when I called for my heart 
but it was too busy with joy.

- Ali Gengarella

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WHEN MY DOG DRINKS WATER

It is especially perfect 
inside a quiet house 
just after a long nap. 

After sleepy legs 
stretch and drag
towards the round well 
looking for revival.

There begins 
the lovingest 
        tricke 
             of 
               notes 
beyond any instrument 
I know of. 

Pink tongue plunges, 
scoops up life itself, 
and the symphony 
goes on dancing this way.

Every now and then 
I catch sight 
of half-shut eyes 
behind floppy ears, 
confirming 
the pleasure of it all. 

Never mind 
that when finished, 
we look to each other, 
both equally steeped 
in happiness.

One in body, 
the other in soul.  

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In the view from up above
it is not one but many, 
side-by-side. 

It is distant stars and listening trees
because few see all 
and still continue to wait with us. 

It is where land meets sky and says,
let us be separate 
but also the whole scene. 

Here you may long for another 
who will remind you to long for yourself.  

Do not worry 
about it ever running out.
It lasts longer than years, 
likely longer. 

The truth is, 
love is not the destination 

but the entire map.

I am in love every single day. 
I must be. 
There is no way out. 

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MY SOUL IS A THIRSTY ANIMAL 

My soul is a thirsty animal 

for dewy roses
waterlight,
and kindness 

as though its safety depends on it.

I suspect it does. 

It’s a good thing 
in this life, 
and perhaps another, 
there is an unreasonable amount 
of beauty. 

I do not know why 
the carnival of summer 
arrives so faithfully, 

or why delicate dawn 
continues to hold out its hand. 

Only that it does. 

WALKING THE FIELD AT DAWN 

He must have a place in mind. 
The black cat with two white socks 
trotting down the center of the field. 
Someone he is off to meet or see. 

Behind him, the morning sky 
slowly sips a pink sun. 
I watch as his quick, easy footsteps 
weave through frost tipped leaves. 

Does he want for more? 
Two more white socks? 
A name, maybe?

He is so confident in the route 
that his head never lowers. 
Though, it could be 
he has crossed this field before. 

Regardless, 
his assurance is so strong, 
the wind has carried and wrapped 
a piece around my shoulders. 

Yes, that must be it. 
Unless, 
how else does one explain 
the feeling of hope?

For a moment, his life feels 
deeply close to mine. 
Like we are eagerly and 
secretly wandering this earth, 
our home, together. 

Maybe he’s already had his best day. 
Maybe it’s just beginning, 
waiting beyond this field he seems so happy about. 

Maybe it’s the place he has in mind. 

MAYBE

If there was a breeze
and a walk filled with copper leaves,

maybe they would lift and fly,
tumble in the wind, 
unaware of the word lost.

If there were bruises in the sky  
and the sun was called to help,

maybe a pair of broad shoulders 
would rise, gently and dressed
in unthinkable colors. 

If there was a dark velvet veil  
spread across all sides 

maybe, from beneath the moon, 
grains of light would wake 
and slowly turn a key 
to the door of dreams. 

Maybe,
if all goes to plan
even just for a little while, 

maybe that would be 
enough.