There is a deer
eating the green that sprouts inconsistently
in the wood behind my home.
From my window,
I watch as its half starved body
attempts to recover from winter,
stepping slowly here and there.
Hardly lifting its head
from the task.
Not greedy, just in need.
Nature’s garden giving hope
for this creature to live,
living just an act of endurance;
enduring the consequence that is life.
I sit here at my window
finding myself comparing
its feeding frenzy
to how I feel when I touch
How your kiss pulls my breath
and yet gives my soul life in great gasps.
I know my longing
to be a hard winter
though I endure instead of moving on
to a climate more forgiving.
Letting your short attention span
which finds me once a week if I’m lucky
(but oh, how I love the days that you give me),
or the breakfast you once made me
be a gift that keeps giving
like the hope that lives,
for the deer,
in a blade of grass.