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That fir's

highest finger

... the crow's tall boast.

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And on the path

I would take

... the jay's feather.

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Droning words

read before, ah

... the doe chewing apple.

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Long shadows ...

that part of me

slips through the fence.

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August apples ...

on two legs

the doe's tongue.

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The broom's long shadow ...

sweeping the remains

of day.

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Ha! ...

the little fawn

caked in sunset!

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A rash of flies ...

sunset scratching

through dry stubble grasses.

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Thorn to thorn

the tiny glass spider's

first stitch.

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