this poem is for deer
I dance on all the mountains On five mountains, I have a dancing place When they shoot at me I run To my five mountains" Missed a last shot At the Buck, in twilight So we came back sliding On dry needles through cold pines. Scared out a cottontail Whipped up the winchester Shot off its head. The white body rolls and twitches In the dark ravine As we run down the hill to the car. deer foot down scree Picasso's fawn, Issa's fawn, Deer on the autumn mountain Howling like a wise man Stiff springy jumps down the snowfields Head held back, forefeet out, Balls tight in a tough hair sack Keeping the human soul from care on the autumn mountain Standing in late sun, ear-flick Tail-flick, gold mist of flies Whirling from nostril to eyes. Home by night drunken eye Still picks out Taurus Low, and growing high: four-point buck Dancing in the headlights on the lonely road A mile past the mill-pond, With the car stopped, shot That wild silly blinded creature down. Pull out the hot guts with hard bare hands While night-frost chills the tongue and eye The cold horn-bones. The hunter's belt just below the sky Warm blood in the car trunk. Deer-smell, the limp tongue. Deer don't want to die for me. I'll drink sea-water Sleep on beach pebbles in the rain Until the deer come down to die in pity for my pain. Gary Snyder