He was running, running, chancing
open fields up from the pond,
moving without the constraint
of human witness, so all
the Fall he went leaping
over our streams, bounding higher
than any dancer’s dreams, risking
high brush until the last extravagant
soaring hushed him down
the embankment, still roaring.

Where now I teeter
on snowshoes and peer
at his hide dazzled with ice,
antlers weighting head back
caught at last
to clog the shadowed stream
that will run far beyond him.

 

Jane Vacante renewed her devotion to writing poetry after retiring as Fraud Prevention Manager at The Passport Center in Portsmouth. Her work was published in literary journals including Painted Bride Quarterly and Smoky Quartz. Her deepest enjoyment comes from roaming the New Hampshire woods that she shares with black bears.