The Deer

I am being prayed for.

The deer appear across the road.
They seem to drift from the understory,
alert, ready to startle.

When they cross the road
to come into my yard
they have the mincing steps on the macadam
of women in heels
on the icy sidewalks outside a church.
Someone is sick.

As autumn deepens
their coats will darken, go grayer
so that they will blend
with the slates and pewters of winter trunks.

They are creatures of listening.
Their hunger brings them here.

Copyright © 2007 Michael Chitwood All rights reserved
from New Letters
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission