(after Wislawa Szymborska)
through these written woods?”
Because she is Joy, and Spring,
and Innocence, and all the metaphors
we can attach to her graceful form.
Because my yard is filled with trees
early this year in their glory –
pink dogwood, weeping cherry,
a blooming apple like a snowstorm.
Because words are her woods,
protecting and nourishing her,
describing her from wet black nose
to impertinent white tail.
Because she feeds on images –
blossoms or bark or tender new leaves.
Because I found her in my yard
early one morning, and interrupted
her grazing, so she loped back into
the meadow mist and waited
for me to write of her again.