in the vale

there is a red tree
                  by a small steeple
                              out on fringes
                                        of a mountain valley

some sort of brilliance is set up as season folds
      out     there is space between     there have always

been gaps enough    for us to fill with our bodies
      to place     an offering    in the round plate of the world

                                        mule deer looks up
                                 between bits of grass
                  notes the last time   he
had to run

Copyright 2008 by James Downs