The buck in the garden

whitetail buck

The September Garden

The buck in the garden watches me, wary and unafraid.
He knows I don’t belong here, creator of tomatoes
carefully bred and staked, bodying forth from here
toward some there that I see, through a glass
darkly.
He knows nothing of the dark.

And so I let him be, wondering how
his return feels a prelude to my return.