Soft Animal from Goodness by The Hotelier

We were cloaked in the awning of night or early morning. 

Through the headboard there’s a flicker of light 

and light warning. 

Sophie’s on the bunk overhead reading Mary Oliver 

while I lay still in my bed. 

That’s when I see you there. 

Fawn doe, light snow. 

Make me feel alive, 

make me believe that all my selves align. 

Fawn, doe, light snow.

Spots on brown of white 

make me believe that it is all alright. 

Your soft face pressed to the wilt, 

first spring sunrise 

standing low on quivering stilts. 

In attempting to keep you to stay

I am raising no alarm. 

It is just us two alone. 

Then I feel a sigh of wind, your raising eyes

a rolling fog that lets you hide 

and I can hear the rustling as you go. 

Oh, go slow. 

Fawn, doe, light snow.

Make me feel alive. 

Make me believe that I don’t have to die. 

Fawn, doe, light snow. 

Spots on brown of white 

make me believe that there’s a God sometimes. 

The ring around your mothers heart 

grows saccharine then falls apart 

and I can hear the rustling as you go. 

You camouflaged or clearly seen

and nameless in the in-between 

and I can hear the rustling as you go. 

The firing of rifles off 

the echo hits you hard enough 

and I can hear the rustling as you go.

A soft and skittish self inside 

shines golden, opal, chrysolite 

and I can feel the rustling as you go. 

Oh, go slow. 

A mob a voices harmonize 

and tell me that your not alive 

but I can feel the rustling as you go.

• Devotional
• Worcester