Deer Tracks
by John P. Kristofco

While I dream of places that I know,
but I have never seen,
deer saunter through the yard
like sonnets in a language I recall
though not the nouns and verbs,
its syntax moving with my breath,
its sound across my skin.

I wake to read their silent lines
entrusted to the grass,
meter, music, metaphor,
beguiling like the sun inside a stream,
clear and vague as any theme
I know but I don't know,
familiar, unacquainted,
just like places in my dream.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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