my grandma told me he was a wolf,
the way he looked at his—
                    his eyes sawed into flesh
The wind blew
            and grey hairs swayed
in unison with her hips;
                                                       their courting dance

I shivered.

the expert marksman knows
his target well,
      knows its terror:
                                    precipitates its very movement…
an act of tenderness

for now. I am quiet
I do not know
            The straight course of the arrow
the doe blinks fearlessly
while its body spasms