At dawn I stared at the fog. Two young stags
Edged through the blackberries, onto the blue lawn.
The tree gate behind their high brown haunches
Didn't move. But the grass below their hooves
Broke and turned dark, and white coils of clouds
Rolled from their low snorting noses. They stood
And then lilted and stepped and stood distant
Again, looking. Locking their tall new racks,
They were like shy lovers breaking the ice.
I could hear the muffled clicks as spring down
Sloughed from their horns. They pulled, stood on two legs,
Boxed in the mist. And my heart opened into parts.
This iris smells like grape popsicles...