In the darkest hour, stars are falling over waterAnd nothing sentient feels itExcept the mirror of the lake. Even the deerAre still sleeping in the hollows
They press with their bodies in tall grass.One doe in labor stirs but doesn’t see her fateEtched before her on the black surface.The distance from birth to the other shore
Is meniscus-thin. She kicks as the membraneBreaks. The herd sleeps. All around herThe future is scattered, written in scat,And the limp fawn waits for its arrival, […]
“Blue Muse of the Unborn Mind,” by T. R. Hummer | The New Yorker
“Blue Muse of the Unborn Mind,” by T. R. Hummer | The New Yorker
