In The Temple Of The Deer
under the full moon of a February night,
in the orchard where apples had grown
when the grass was green and lush,
I contemplate the seven deer below me
as they forage with quiet brown eyes,
and listen as their delicate hooves
chip the apples from the crusted snow,
I covet their quietness
and their internal quietness that knows nothing of questions
and thus has no need for answers;
and in my mind I descend and walk among them
as one would walk between the pillars of a temple.
