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The Deer

A Rorschach cloud
shadows sun,
then pauses.

A deer dashes across
the meridian, heading
for catastrophe, free.

I break the car
on the highway,
one last snowflake
or next to the last,
touches, wets the earth.
My mother cries
out to me—at once—
sadness, but no fright,
something lasts forever.

Reaching to great
there are no images.

Quiet gray
I came from.
The deer made it.