Traveling Through The Dark

 Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.

It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.


By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.

I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.


My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.

Beside that mountain road I hesitated.


The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.

I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.


I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.

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