this poem is for deer
I dance on all the mountains
On five mountains, I have a dancing place
When they shoot at me I run
To my five mountains"

Missed a last shot
At the Buck, in twilight
So we came back sliding
On dry needles through cold pines.
Scared out a cottontail
Whipped up the winchester
Shot off its head.
The white body rolls and twitches
In the dark ravine
As we run down the hill to the car.

                        deer foot down scree
Picasso's fawn, Issa's fawn,
Deer on the autumn mountain
Howling like a wise man
Stiff springy jumps down the snowfields
Head held back, forefeet out,
Balls tight in a tough hair sack
Keeping the human soul from care
                   on the autumn mountain
Standing in late sun, ear-flick
Tail-flick, gold mist of flies
Whirling from nostril to eyes.

Home by night
               drunken eye
Still picks out Taurus
Low, and growing high:
               four-point buck
Dancing in the headlights
               on the lonely road
A mile past the mill-pond,
With the car stopped, shot
That wild silly blinded creature down.

Pull out the hot guts
               with hard bare hands
While night-frost chills the tongue
               and eye
The cold horn-bones.
The hunter's belt
               just below the sky
Warm blood in the car trunk.
Deer-smell,
               the limp tongue.

Deer don't want to die for me.
               I'll drink sea-water
Sleep on beach pebbles in the rain
Until the deer come down to die
               in pity for my pain.


                    Gary Snyder