There is a faun that passes through my backyard, only
sometimes, and the bald tip of her tail and her limp
are unmistakable. If she comes in the late afternoon,
I lean my body against our porch door, and she freezes
for me. The sun highlights her, an ear twitches. I can’t
help but imagine how powerful, how delicate she must
be. She holds her position and then shifts forward, one
muscle after another. The precision, the certainty, the
taste of iron in my mouth, the water.
August 2, 2014, MLT