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The deer appear, frozen at the edge
of the forest, or the frame, of mind
electric with night and the absence
of silver fence or unimpeded gaze.
Light exists but only as memory.
The blur of motion, the spectres
of trees, the image inverted on
the far side of the eye, the ratio
of hindquarters marbled to torso.
Space exists but only as negative.
They run, for fear of what follows.
It is spring, and down in the valley,
colours lie in wait like landmines,
quiet grenades across the grass.
Nidhi Zak/Aria Eipe