Imagining Deer

Imagining deer,

this morning,

hard,

in woods that can not

be navigated,

with hooves against ice-clenched ground,

and as they stay in one place,

do they dream  of

and long for the hollow,

where the apples lie?

or do they simply wait,

abandoning all thought to the waiting, 

knowing in their bones,

that there are apples out there,

but never allowing the thoughts

to rise beyond

the visceral?

 

There,

in the dark cold woods,

deer wait.

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