There are secrets in the forest,
quiet movements of coming and going.
A communion of deer reaching out
with delicate tongues for the Host,
administered by an invisible priestess.
If you hold your breath you might hear their
murmured Amens, see the green shoots
as the body of their god moves gently
I was thinking as I walked,
'Where are the deer?' and I looked up
to see one regarding me placidly.
Then there were five more and two
off in a thicket by themselves.
Theirs is a language of movement,
of gestures. They have no secrets;
they are like the books
on the table
by the window
that you meant to read.
You walk by today, tomorrow.
Soon, you cannot see them.