~ANNIE FINCH~

FAWNS

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Mist recovers everything and stains
day with morning, rolling many rains

past the quietly open window panes
like no more reasons, like a surrendered gain.

Mist, your small feet, which actually were born,
step in their darkening way through what's been torn

(a child covering her eyes, a night in pain
surrendering into morning). 

You remain, mist over many valleys,
mountains,
lawns,
roofs, and at last,
my eyes:  you,
mist of fawns.

 
 

© by Annie Finch