Took my spirit but it never
Will take me away again.
Sarah cries out from the kitchen
Where she's been buttering rice
There's a buck, no, stag, on the porch!
I throw open the window
Of the back bedroom where I read
When I can steal a moment
And a startling rack of tines
Nods briskly by in the dark
Within arm's reach, neither panicked
Nor stately, simply Hello
I must be going, through the door
That serves as our garden gate,
Like a missionary leaving,
Embarrassed and shadowy
But getting on with the logic
Of a damp night in winter,
Bird feed to consider, wet snow.
How compelled we are to narrate
The tiny moments of our lives,
Remembered as mysteries.
Each moment takes moments away
Never to return. Not I.