The white stag is a symbol of innocence

The sky is perfectly clear, with leaves coming into shape 

With the summer completing its long yawn in fond haste

My radio isn't working, it's on, and off, and on again

And the winsome leftovers of winter willfully melt away

The ground is filled with lights that disrupt such a perfect day 

I see people, men, and women, uniforms and civilian, as if I were in a parade 

Debris speared through tree trunks and hearts in a survived cage

Glass spread among shimmering asphalt like sparklers on Independence Day 

Men with arms full of sandbags sprinkle it about in sporadic ways  

And what is gruesome evaporates into clogged and dirty air

Swirling unassuredly above the tree canopies, as if to say it will not disappear so easily  

I see humans like ghosts in white drapes rolled off into the distance 

Where the sun and its heat shrouds what can be displayed 

Eyes glued, naturally turning with the vehicles 

Uncertain of when a dream becomes reality

And as we turn, I follow, but my mind does not 

It stays caught in the collection of dust and souls up for question

And now a headless body drives with trouble 

On the side road, a crowd of grotesque animals shuffles

With phones for hands, slavish intent, and bloodied interest

While their necks neatly bend and stretch, collecting tapes of what is intensely private 

As if it's only an extension of Sunday’s news and nothing worthy of clasped hands 

My time moved like a charge through a cable until I found my feet scuffing the gymnasium the next hour

In that moment, the brain found itself again with a disconnected soul 

Walls neared

Everything slowed like a word that counters love and reaches your throat before your eyes can close

I watched through the window from the hall

As shoulders brushed my back 

And innocence played basketball in their new spotless shoes, trying not to laugh too hard, or they'd cry

One size fits all 

Laughter and pure salt

This was a morning where you’d stretch out of bed, scratching your head, reading over coffee, and morning breath 

An unassuming break where the birds were unusually popular

The flowers began peaking their heads out from under

And the lake carried over the air from the coming summer 

A morning, where time and mortality forgot to check on us, like all those days before

A morning presumed to be careful, honest, and pure

Two days prior, we had been driving west for a quiet and familiar tour 

And in its most unpredictable moment, a white stag shot through an uncovered forest

Perfect and sacred 

And our hearts fluttered about our bellies for some time

Just as they began to revert to their intended anatomy 

Another one springs

Galloping with cranberries in its teeth, evading to be seen

What are the odds

Two in one day 

And neither of them witnessed by me