Wrote nothing, thought nothing also.
A day passed with no folded corners.
Elsewhere, there’s evidence
of five little deer in a sun field.

One, partly hidden, faces me,
as if I took the picture. Stance
like a dance step, minor reversal,
indifference to time.

Maybe I’m the princess
of darkness, wretched like Kafka.
They see me! But I couldn’t read,
couldn’t write. Where was I?

The field, the tulgey wood.
The flora can speak to the fauna.
I could be queen of the flowers
but I always do what I would.