In the evening Stream walks
down into the hollow
Shedding her clothes. In time
this spot will be given a name
Stream would never have
recognized. But for now she
Chooses to run along the rill:
She is Deer.
Tall grass, the wispy reeds
skim her trim form
And with her white tail and roe
calls, the purple woods cannot
Keep her from tonight’s maraud.
Companions gather: Nightjar,
Leopard Frog, Locust Tree
They too take up the game of
There is a log cabin in a clearing
nearby and with its one room, single
Bed and mounted shotgun, it is
more a sleeping house than a place
For living. It has no amenities, no
larder and is deathly quiet.
A flock of Deer rush through the door
flooding the room at Stream’s direction
To the untrained –even to a hunter-
no one would know this is water
Speaking tortuous but clear.
They de-clench a tear-drop flame
And it takes down the house quickly.
This is their mirth, their songs fill
The woods and could be mistaken for
the call of estrus.
Jeremy Nathan Marks is a St. Louis, Missouri born Marylander who came to Canada seven years ago and can’t decide if the cows he has been seeing in his dreams have been fat or have been thin. By moving away from his native land he somehow has become more connected with his roots. Poetry, photography and wild nature are his Muses while the PhD he came here to do has become more like a guest who has overstayed his welcome. His work has been published numerous places including The Blue Hour, Lake: A journal of arts and environment, and at The Camel Saloon. Three of his poems will be forth coming in the summer edition of the Wilderness House Literary Review. He and his wife Michelle live with their animal family in London, Ontario.