A Distant Fawn
By Patrick Wright
Off in the glades, a fawn crouches, hears its own heartbeat, a wolf upwind. & still a whole field killed by lightning. Orphans search for mother’s scent, before their heads sprout into branches. Was it God in disguise?—the fawn at Darsham Marshes. Ghost-like, going off. It seemed to say I’m here, don’t follow. By the trees we glimpsed a whorl of fur, receding further as we stepped. My lips on your forehead. I was a fawn in your limbus. I was going off, going off in the distance.
Patrick Wright
Patrick Wright has a poetry collection, Full Sight of Her (Eyewear), which was nominated for the John Pollard Prize. He has also been twice shortlisted for the Bridport Prize. His poems have appeared in Poetry Ireland Review, The North, Southword, Agenda, Wasafiri, London Magazine, and The Reader. He teaches English Literature and Creative Writing at the Open University.
Photo credit: Noah Smith
Apricot Press 