narrow forrest shifting, microscopically

by Jessica Bolluyt

the deer, buck and doe, come to the edge of the highway

(in the moments just before

night.) as she

runs across in the reckless twilight, their beating hearts

(pull the darkness)

gently down

between them, above the empty interstate. in

the setting sun, so cold as to be almost

blue, she finds the silvered stream

and he hesitates along the

yellow median. in his angling leap, the small, precise

dissonance of brakes, the abrasion of tires, and the


diffraction of headlights. saltwater

freezes, glass tears

inside her eyes.


frost is killing the primroses,

(which it loves).