An oracle of wind shuffles through dead leaves
while the boy sits in the field with the dead deer.
The quiet body makes a bed from tall grass. The quiet body
has a visitation of carrion flies. And the boy imagines
that death is made of broken earth and birdcalls, that death
casts out a line to snare each drifting cloud. And the boy
can see his house from the field, his bedroom window
and the glare of glass like bits of bone. And the deer
whispers, Everything that lives is vaporous. Everything
that dies becomes an anthem. And the boy imagines riding
on the dead deer’s back, imagines leaping a fence
and disappearing into air. And the deer says, The years
arrange themselves as faint depressions in the ground.
And the deer says, This stench of heat becomes an occultation.
And the boy wonders if the deer will blame the snow come winter
for its motion, will blame the rain come spring for the wet drumbeat.
And the boy does not rise even when he hears his mother calling.
He lies flat and still and imagines the soft throat of decades.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 4.
Doug Ramspeck is the author of nine poetry collections, one collection of short stories, and a novella. His most recent book, Blur, received the Tenth Gate Prize and is published by The Word Works. Individual poems have appeared in journals that include The Southern Review, The Missouri Review, Kenyon Review, Slate, and The Georgia Review. See all items about Doug Ramspeck
