Genesis

II

Last night a fawn wandered across our new

lawn—thin legs, dark eyes—successor

of echoes and repeals, all that tweaking through

millennia, fingering cells to favor

the winner, after a long, hard winter.

Would the sun or Sagittarius A, wrest-

ling with a black hole, care about her quest

for food: ears that perk, hoofs in precarious

dance? Would they shelter her through the contest,

shield her earnest heart? Iron out a truce?

III

Spark, spit, and soot: remnants of an unleashed

morning, now astral beads across a clear

heaven. They will not rally around the least,

the tenderest thing: the imperfect deer,

the pale heron amid ancient threats ever

encroaching, while the dark soil plays its role.

Shadows pressure the lawn, the pond weeps, dol-

ing out mist at the edge of our being.

If not a star, who stirs at the word console

or hears voices under a heron’s wing?