A Dream of My Mother Post-mortem

I was afraid at first of the young hart
coming at me with his head down

in what looked like an attitude of attack.
The woods behind him, the field behind me

I could have turned and run
but I stood my ground.

He pawed his ground. I ran to the side
and he, seeing my move, came after me

and I, seeing his, now ran, noticing
for the first time that it was night.

While a million stars distracted me
he butted me gently with his small

horns, and I sensed us lifting off the ground.
We were flying. I let fall my drawn-up legs

loosened my grip on his soft neck
and held it loosely in a friendly way

and like him, looking straight ahead
took in the night, loved the night,

was one with the night, and seeing
somehow those below moving

in the field we flew above. I wanted
to tell my mother and searched the faces

for sight of hers, and there she was
looking up and smiling.

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