by Mark Young
Those legendary muscles furled in slumber,
he’s burrowed into earth, gilded with leaves
that settle round the umber-detailed bower,
that crackle off the intermittent breeze.
The damp earth summons him as ethers freeze
each sense—plump fragrance fat with permanence.
And while he’s deeply sleeping, deeply seized,
the hind slips into insignificance,
until its golden antlers light his countenance.
— from Juniper Volume 4, Issue 2