Above There Is The Mountain
And at its foot, the summer refuge---
sanctuary in town and yards under spreading
boughs of evergreens
Beneath the mountain’s wild, they find
their forage: shrubs, wild plants and the feast
of dropped fruit spread about the ground
Those with antlers come alone
Those without bring offspring---fawns
following last year’s babes nearly grown
Late summer afternoons, they descend
like evening shadows slipping down the slopes
and fanning out within the town
By night they feed; by moon they play
How swift they are, even the smallest ones
with stripes and spots
Under moonlight, they suckle then break
for cover---like wind itself---practicing escape
Neither are claws imaginary;
real and raw are the marks
which groove some yearlings’ flanks
Quiet coming, quieter still in going,
all gather again at first light, a full herd
of phantoms ready to depart
before the sun soars above the trees
At town’s edge, the solitary bucks
begin to bound---sharp hooves pounding
respect into pliant earth
Near forest, they pause, heads high,
nostrils flaring to test the morning breeze
Hidden high beneath the mountain’s brushy
crown: a flash of eye shine gold green,
the presence sensed but rarely seen
-Peter Hensel