The Doe

Headlights slice thick blackness
Figures of cedar and fir crowd both sides of the long, wet road
Soft brown body on cold pavement
Her last breath sighed her just a moment ago
Sharp light illuminates steam rising from s split across her belly
The mark left from driving steel
Her gentle hooves reaching for pavement
Blood, bones, and skin are all that is left
I want to lift her body from this foreign trail,
rest her in moist moss and ferns, where she was meant to be.
I pray for her graceful spirit, for forgiveness
that these roads cut though her home.
But her deep eyes just stare
through the headlights and through me,
into the endless darkness.