Inside a snowy blanket which put the trees to sleep,
 I heard a fawn.
Out past the window's ice coat in the morning, I
 found a sleeping fawn.

There are men in yellow kitchens watching hands of
 brown-eyed women
while men in orange jackets dream in secret, of
 capturing a fawn.

When I was younger I was taught, but have forgotten,
 sweet timidity.
When I am older I will learn, by necessity, the
 light-footedness of fawns.

Someone left a lily on my doorstep, eggshell white
 with speckled leaves;
the card of introduction said the flower's name was
 Fawn.

Sages wonder if it's possible for men to turn to
 animals.
I wonder if they've pondered the agility of fawns.


Submitted by Joe Shields