And The Deer Still Drink At Whiskey River

 

 

 

the storm broke branches from the willows

we tore off the last

leafy green, and

ate from each other's palms

the leaves were evidence around our mouths

making our doe eyes

and ears and faces, seem

ridiculous

a clap of thunder sounds, another one coming

and the creeping spurge at

our feet flattens, as

we leave the trees behind