Poetry

the sun doesn’t know
how strong she is
moon doesn’t know
his grace
so how could you know
the wonderful skies
hiding behind
your face?

~ happy

venison for breakfast

one vivacious venison pranced and gamboled
into a grove of thousands of venerable white aspen trees
disappearing into a shaft of dawn
when another beatific bit of meat
gazed into my eyes then shyly lowered her head
so we breakfasted together
surrounded by gold-leafed aspen elders
beside the brook
amidst the wildflowers
at a respectable distance
we dined on raspberries and shrubbery and yarrow
then shared a gigantic green spongy plate of miners’ lettuce
just standing there, mutually mesmerized
on our six legs
crunching and chewing together
occasionally twitching our ears
while listening to the stream sing beside our ankles
for an undefinable time.

~ happy