A turmoil off in the distance,
far away and behind me,
sends intensity over his coat;
even the dew drops stand on end.

How far that gaze must travel,
the sun, the world set alight;
all the big things that begat the little,
all the little things that begat the big.

Against the dawn his silhouette remains,
captured by some concern that is not me,
while I ponder, what could it be?
in all the world, what could it be?

But the song of now plays strong.
Cold air, low clouds, joyous trees;
the both of us passive members;
in the ambience of that ensemble.

A loud break cracks behind me,
his head drops quickly to his breast.
Dew shakes loose from the antlers
like diamonds discarded to the ground.

He raises his leg slowly
as I raise my sights,
both of us anxious;
for the end that is coming.

It strikes like lightning.