Beauty still catches my breath
Draws me back in.
This year’s fawns—delicate—more cautious than the does.
I should grow into a godlike shadow
Clang pots and pans
Drive you from the neighbor’s corn-laced lawn;
but, I’m no better.
I ache to sit
—silent—where you are.
Heart lifted up,
because you do not see me.
Renée Zenaida
